


Der Meißel der Seele

by Wertiyurae



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst, Dark, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other: See Story Notes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 93
Words: 363,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wertiyurae/pseuds/Wertiyurae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Klink has had his share of troubles since becoming Camp Kommandant and he's had to suffer his share of indignities. But when a newcomer to Stalag 13 gives him a proposition he can't refuse, he will have to make some very hard choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blackmail is Such a Dirty Word

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings for this fic--I don't want to be flamed by someone who didn't realize what they were looking at. I also have additional notes at the bottom that should be read. Also, this story has already been up for some time at the Wonderful World of Make Believe, so if it looks familiar to anyone, that's why.

“Kommandant!”

Colonel Wilhelm Klink looked up from his usual Monday afternoon paperwork to frown at Langenscheidt. “Yes, Corporal, what is it?”

“General Adler wishes to speak with you, sir.” 

Klink felt his frown deepen. “What for?” He shook his head. “Never mind, show him in.”

“Yes, sir!” As the Corporal saluted and left to do so, Klink felt the heavy sensation of dread. Something about General Josef Adler set him on edge, and he could not say exactly what it was. Yes, Adler was Gestapo, and he was seldom comfortable with any of their number, but this was different. Compared to most of the Gestapo members he’d met, the man bordered on pleasant. Charming, affable, well-spoken. And the man was always smiling. By all accounts, Klink thought he should _enjoy_ the General’s company. 

But he didn’t. 

There was something … off about the man. Something not genuine. It had taken Klink a while to notice the odd things, but once he had, he couldn’t ignore them. Adler laughed too long and too loudly. He often spoke as though sharing some sort of inside joke Klink wasn’t privy to. And then there were those strangely intent looks Adler sent his way every so often: piercing stares that seemed calculating and cold despite the ever-present smile on his face. 

The fact that Adler _was_ always smiling didn’t help either—Klink’s father had told him on many occasions to never trust a man who smiles _all_ the time: _‘A smile is the easiest way to hide what you’re thinking.’_ Klink didn’t want to know what Adler was thinking; he certainly didn’t want to know whatever he might be hiding!

Klink knew he was being foolish about this, and at best, he was making an elephant out of a mosquito. Even so, he couldn’t deny wanting to flee in the opposite direction when Adler was around. 

Not that Klink’s, no doubt irrational, unease around Adler mattered. The man was a general, and as such, he was Klink’s superior, and as a member of the Gestapo, he had the authority to do just about anything he pleased. Really, all Klink could do was pray that the General would finally decide the inspection was over and move on to another Stalag. 

The sooner the better. 

These thoughts flashed through Klink’s mind as Corporal Langenscheidt announced the General and the man came in. Adler was in his thirties with the classic, good Aryan looks the Reich prized. He was tall (a couple inches taller than Schultz) and (unlike the Sergeant) athletically trim. Judging by the ease with which he’d carried his luggage (which had seemed to Klink a vast amount before it had become clear that the man had decided to stay long past his scheduled two days), he was quite strong as well. 

All in all, an intimidating figure. Adler smiled the smile Klink had grown to despise during the past week as he stepped into the room. “Colonel Klink,” he greeted warmly, “just the man I wanted to see.”

“General Adler. Sir,” Klink stood and saluted with a smile, hoping his father had been right, “as always, it’s a such a pleasure to—”

He waved Klink’s greeting away, uncharacteristically impatient. “Yes, yes, if we can conclude with the formalities, Colonel, there _is_ something I’d like to discuss with you.” Then, eyeing Schultz and Langenscheidt standing in the corner, he added: “Alone.”

“Of course, of course,” Klink said quickly, lowering his hand, “no problem at all. Schultz!”

The fat Sergeant saluted. “Yessir, Kommandant!”

“Why don’t you and Langenscheidt check on the prisoners in Barracks 2; Colonel Hogan has been much too quiet lately.”

Schultz looked confused. “But I have already—”

Klink had remembered too late he’d sent Schultz to Barracks 2 once today already. Still, it wouldn’t do to have his subordinate question him while the General was standing there and staring. “Now, Sergeant!”

As Schultz and Langenscheidt marched themselves out of the room (after giving clumsy and clipped salutes respectively), Schultz spared a look at Adler as he passed him and shook his head slightly. It hadn’t occurred to Klink to ask his Sergeant what he thought of the General, but it seemed that Schultz didn’t care for the man any more than he did. 

Klink briefly wondered why before deciding whatever Schultz thought was hardly important, what with Adler about to discuss something with him. _Who knows? Maybe Adler’s here to say he’s done with his inspection and will be leaving soon._

The thought made Klink’s mood brighten considerably.

After the two guards left the building, Adler called out to Fraulein Hilda. “Be a dear, Fraulein, and make certain we’re not disturbed.”

Feeling as though he should have some say when it came to his staff, Klink added, somewhat unnecessarily, “Especially not by Colonel Hogan!”

Adler shut the door, effectively cutting off her reply. “Does this door lock, Colonel?”

Nodding, Klink told him where the lock was and how it worked. As Adler started on the door, Klink’s unease grew. If this little discussion Adler wanted to have was about something as mundane as his inspection here, he would not be locking the door. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, it had to be something serious.

Serious, locked door discussions were nerve-wracking in any case. With Adler choosing the topic, Klink was practically certain he didn’t want to know what this was all about. 

“Is this room secure?”

How often had he asked himself this very same question! “This is the most secure room in all of Germany outside of Berlin, I’m sure, General,” Klink enthused, trying his best to hide his own doubts on that score. “Anything you say here will never go beyond these four walls, I assure you.”

Adler nodded in a distracted sort of way as he strode over to the window and looked through the frost-covered glass. Seemingly unsatisfied, he pulled the curtain closed. His eyes swept across the office and lit on the other door out of the room. “Where does that door lead to, Colonel?”

“Just to my personal quarters, sir.” Klink shrugged, resisting the urge to start fidgeting with difficulty. The tension was rising, and Adler was acting strangely—Klink was suddenly reminded of the way Hochstetter would prowl around this office in search of listening devices. It didn’t fit with the easy going persona the General had been affecting for the last week.

“Is there a lock for that door?”

Klink shook his head. “There’s no need for one; the only way into my quarters is through the office.”

“Ah.” Adler sat down, and Klink took it as permission to sit as well. “I apologize for being so exacting about this, but the matter I wish to discuss requires the utmost secrecy.” He leaned forward in his chair, speaking softly, as though afraid that, despite his precautions, he’d be overheard. “I know your secret.”

Possibly the four scariest words in all of Germany—Klink was only glad he was already sitting down. “Secret?” He racked his brain for anything he’d done or said which would possibly be of concern to a general. Unfortunately, the only things leaping to mind were things that had happened around here, things he couldn’t quite explain away. 

_Still,_ he thought, _best not to show_ my _hand before Adler shows what’s in_ his _._ He might be worrying for nothing. “What secret?”

“Now, that is the question, isn’t it?” Adler leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head.

Klink had a bad feeling about this. “Is it?”

Adler nodded. “As you are well aware, Colonel, these days one can’t be too careful. Everyone is suspect, and so it takes little more than the say so of one man to ruin someone’s career, or to cost someone his life.”

There was a definite sense of satisfaction in knowing he hadn’t been paranoid all this time, in knowing he’d judged the man correctly after all. Said satisfaction was somewhat dimmed by the fact that Adler was, oh so casually!, threatening to ruin him. No doubt the plan was blackmail—regrettably for the both of them (but more so for Klink), the Kommandant of Stalag 13 did not have access to very much money. Certainly not enough to satisfy a general!

He was suddenly reminded of the last time he’d been blackmailed, by that Panzer division commander: somehow, Colonel Hogan had managed to come up with the money to pay it. It was not an incident Klink liked to think too deeply about because it involved a POW escaping from camp, dressing up like a German soldier, and somehow getting his hands on five thousand Marks. Never mind how the prisoner had learned of the blackmail in the first place, or why he’d come back to camp after escaping. Or even why he’d bothered to pay Klink’s blackmailer at all.

Klink still hadn’t managed to come up with an explanation for any of it that made any kind of sense. 

And he did not have enough time to find one now. Adler was looking at him expectantly, and Klink was not looking forward to disappointing him. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, General. What does that have to do with me?”

That was another thing his father had told him. _‘When in doubt, play dumb.’_ When thinking of this advice, Klink usually disregarded the _‘It won’t be too hard for you, son’_ part. 

Adler’s smile tightened, his expression a strange mixture of amusement and annoyance. “I think you understand perfectly well, Colonel,” he said, straightening up and putting down his hands, “but I’m willing to play along for now.

“I’m sure you understand that, as a Gestapo general, I have access to a lot of power. I have people who will believe whatever I tell them.” His smile widened, making him look like an animal baring its teeth. “Or failing that, people who are too afraid to oppose me even if they doubt what I say.

“Now, let’s say, for sake of argument, I told my superiors I heard you and someone else planning to pass information on to the underground, or, perhaps, planning an assassination attempt on our beloved Führer—what do you think would happen?”

Klink didn’t have to think about what would happen in that case; he already knew what would happen. Interrogation by the Gestapo, and assuming he lived long enough, death by firing squad. 

“But I would never do anything like that!” Klink knew he sounded panicked, but he didn’t care—in his opinion, if there was ever a time to panic, it would be now. Considering the seriousness of the threat, whatever amount of money the General wanted from him would be much more than he could pay, and Klink knew he had nothing of value to give this new blackmailer. 

All he could do was try to appeal to the other man’s sense of patriotism. 

“I have been nothing but loyal to the Reich—”

“Maybe,” Adler interrupted, “maybe not. The point is who is the Gestapo going to believe? One of their own or a Luftwaffe Colonel who hasn’t received a promotion in years?”

The answer was so obvious Klink saw no reason to actually say it. 

“But I would be willing to keep my peace on the matter,” Adler said as he stood and turned away from the desk, “for a price.”

Here it was. Klink had known it was coming, but the knowledge hadn’t made him any more prepared for the moment. “What do you want?”

Adler chuckled. “Don’t worry, Colonel. My price is nothing you can’t afford.”

Something about the way the General said this did not make Klink feel any better. “Please, what are you talking about? What do you want from me?”

“Before I get to that, I want to make certain this will be worth my while.” Turning back towards the desk, Adler motioned to him. “Come here, Colonel.”

Klink wasn’t sure what to make of the first part of this statement, but as for the second, he thought he’d much rather stay where he was—at least the desk afforded him some protection. Although, protection from what exactly, he could not have said. It didn’t really matter because, despite his misgivings, he’d been in the military too long to disobey orders. 

And he was never in the habit of refusing generals anything.

Once Klink had come to where the other man stood, Adler began to circle around him, inspecting him, almost as one might inspect a piece of furniture or a car before buying it. The whole affect made Klink uneasy, and he could feel the sweat in his palms as he lightly clenched his fists. He hoped the General got to the point soon: Klink wasn’t sure how much more of this strange behavior he could stand. 

At length, Adler stopped and nodded to himself. “You want to know what I want, Colonel?” he asked, pinning Klink with another one of those calculating stares. 

Klink nodded warily, suddenly knowing how a fish felt once it had figured out it was on the hook. Unfortunately, like that fish, he had already swallowed the hook. Now, all he could do was wait and pray the General would be merciful once he reeled him in. Staring back at him, Klink found it difficult to believe the man was capable of mercy.

Adler came closer and snaked an arm around Klink’s waist in a way which reminded Klink of himself helping drunken friends back to the dorms during his academy days. While Klink was thinking of a way to ask the General to release him without causing any insult, Adler pulled Klink towards him, enveloping him in an awkward embrace.

Before Klink had a chance to ask him what he was doing—insulting the General be damned—the other man brought his hand to Klink’s face and drew him closer still, so close Klink could feel Adler’s breath on his cheek when he spoke. “I want you.”

“What?” Klink felt the monocle threaten to drop out as his eyes widened. “What do you mean?” It didn’t occur to him to struggle or to try freeing himself—he was far too busy trying to figure out whether he’d heard the General correctly and what it meant if he had. “I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t you?” Adler chuckled. It was an ugly sound, and it made Klink wish he wasn’t standing quite so close to the man. “How about a demonstration, then?”

This was the only warning Klink got before he found himself on the receiving end of a crushing kiss. For a long moment, all he could do was stand there in shock and disbelief. There was no way this could be happening—this wasn’t happening. This was some sort of insane nightmare. It had to be!

But as Adler started to force his tongue inside Klink’s mouth, Klink could no longer deny he was awake and this Gestapo general was, for whatever reason, kissing him. 

He tried to pull away but found Adler had taken advantage of his shock to pin his arms against his sides. He tried to pull his arms up out of the embrace but was held fast as Adler’s hold on him tightened nearly to the point of pain. There was no doubting now that the General was a strong man. 

In the meantime, the kiss continued. In of itself, the kiss wasn’t entirely unpleasant. But the facts of the matter just made everything about it disturbing. The fact that he was being kissed like this by a man. The fact that said man had, not five minutes before, threatened to sic the Gestapo on him. The fact that he was pinned and powerless only made what was happening all the more repulsive. 

This had to stop. 

Beginning his struggles anew, Klink managed to slip his arms free of Adler’s. He pressed his hands against the General’s chest and pushed as hard as he could—

—Adler’s hands shot out to catch Klink’s arms even as Klink managed to break away from the tight embrace. While Klink was relieved Adler allowed him to keep the small distance between them his efforts had won, the smile on Adler’s face told him it was far too soon to feel anything like relief. “What’s the matter, Colonel? You didn’t care for my kiss?” 

“What are you doing!” Klink could feel his face flood with heat as uncharacteristic rage overcame his fear. “Let go of me, or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll _what_?” Adler asked, pulling Klink close to him again. “Will you scream for help?” He enveloped him in another tight embrace. “I’d love to see how you would explain this to your underlings.”

As much as he wanted out of Adler’s hold, Klink had to concede Adler’s point. He couldn’t imagine how he’d even _begin_ to explain this to whomever came to his aid. He was having a difficult time believing what was happening himself, and _he_ was the one it was happening to! None of this made any sense.

Why was this happening? What had Adler said before the kiss? He’d called it a ‘demonstration’—a demonstration of what he’d meant when he’d said what he wanted. And what he’d said he wanted was...

_‘I want you.’_

Klink suddenly felt as though he might be sick as the implications of the statement became clear. The very idea of it bordered on the ludicrous, but he could not think of what else a kiss would be a demonstration of. 

Still, there was always the chance he’d come to the wrong conclusion again. Until he actually heard Adler _say_ he wanted … whatever he wanted, there was still some hope. Right? “What do you want from me?”

Adler’s answering grin looked hungry. “I’ve already told you, Colonel: I want _you_.” He brought his face close to Klink’s ear. “For the use of your body, I keep quiet about any suspicions I might have about your conduct.” 

Klink did his best to suppress a shiver, both at the cold description and Adler’s mouth on his neck. “Wh-why me? Surely, a man like yourself could have any woman you want—why would you—?

“I don’t want a woman,” Adler interrupted, sounding almost tired, “they’re so fragile and so used to being dominated. Do you know how easy it is to break a woman?” His tone asked Klink to sympathize. “It’s much more of a challenge to break a man: men are made of sterner stuff. Don’t you agree?”

Horror seized Klink as he realized what sort of devil he was dealing with. A monster. This man was a monster, pure and simple—though he doubted either word, pure or simple, had much to do with General Adler. “You … you want to break me?”

Adler shook his head. “I could easily take what I want—and I _have_ on many occasions.” He pressed himself against Klink, forcing Klink to feel his arousal. “But this time, I don’t want to have to take it: I want submission.” Unwrapping his arm from Klink’s torso, he traced a finger down Klink’s cheek. “And I want yours.”

Now free, Klink backed away from Adler quickly, hitting the front of his desk. He felt an insane urge to laugh hysterically. Well, there was no mistaking what Adler wanted now, was there? Even if he were a homosexual (which he most definitely wasn’t!), he still didn’t think he could do what the General was demanding of him—the thought of that man touching him again was enough to make his skin crawl. 

“I see you don’t care much for the idea.” Adler sighed theatrically. “All right then.” He reached for the telephone on Klink’s desk and picked up the receiver. “Hello, operator, please connect me to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin.” He covered the mouth piece with his palm. “I’d decide quickly, if I were you, Colonel. What’s more important to you? Your pride or your life?”

He leaned towards Klink, and his voice lost its jocular tone. “Refuse me, and I promise you that neither will be intact once I’m through.” Then his expression softened, and he reached out his hand to cup Klink’s cheek. “Accept me, submit to me, and all it costs you is your dignity. I can be very gentle when I want to be.” He rubbed his thumb over Klink’s bottom lip. “Cooperate, and I promise that you will not be hurt.”

He leaned closer and whispered in Klink’s ear. “What will it be, Colonel? This is your last chance to choose.”

There was no choice. As Klink had once told Colonel Hogan, when the American had suggested he try for a combat post, Klink would rather be a living failure than a dead hero. Here, Adler got what he wanted either way except, in one case, Klink would be dead at the end, and in the other case, he could get out of this alive.

And Klink would rather live. If cooperating with Adler made this possible, then that was what he’d do. He didn’t know whether or not this made him a coward, and he wasn’t all that certain he actually cared. Surely, his life was worth more than the humiliation of submitting to—of giving the General what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

“I’ll do it.” His mouth was dry, but he just managed to force out the words.

“Do what?” Adler countered, looking at him expectantly. “Be precise.”

Klink closed his eyes, as much to pretend he wasn’t here as to avoid looking at Adler’s face. “I’ll submit to you.”

His words had been little more than a soft whisper, but when Klink opened his eyes, Adler seemed satisfied with them. Smiling, he hung up the receiver. “I’m so glad that you’ve decided to be reasonable about this.” He pulled Klink’s face to his and kissed him lightly on the lips. “We’ll work out the details tonight; be here at 2300.”

Klink only nodded, afraid of what his voice would sound like if he tried to speak.

Adler gave Klink’s cheek something that might have passed for a reassuring pat had he been someone else before he turned away and headed for the door. After he undid the lock, he turned back to Klink and grinned. “Until tonight, Colonel.” Without waiting for a salute (which Klink hadn’t been about to give him anyway), Adler exited the office. 

Klink stood there a moment longer before he slumped to the floor as his legs gave up the fight to support him. _Oh God. What have I done?_ He leaned back against his desk and closed his eyes. He could feel himself shaking, and he thought he could do with a stiff drink to settle his nerves, but he doubted he could get up now to save his life.

What was he going to do? How could he possibly keep his word? While he didn’t know for certain what his cooperation with the General would entail—Klink was not as worldly as he liked other people to believe, and honestly, he’d never given this matter much thought—he was sure of this: Adler would be touching him again and not just on the face.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to force the thought from his mind and found it impossible. He’d agreed to let Adler touch him, kiss him, humiliate him—how could he possibly forget about that!

Why was Adler doing this to him anyway? Had he done something? Had he said something he shouldn’t have? Did he remind Adler of someone he hated? Was this some kind of punishment? What?

How was he ever going to get through this?

He was aware of his office door opening, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much about it. He wasn’t even interested in looking up to see who it was. So, he just sat there and wondered if his visitor would leave if he ignored them long enough. He certainly hoped so.

“Colonel Klink?”

 _Colonel Hogan._ Just about the last person he wanted to deal with right now. Klink had been about to tell him to go away when he realized the man already had hold of his arm and was pulling him up to his feet.

“Are you all right, sir?”

 _Is that concern in his voice?_ Klink shook his head at the ridiculous thought—Hogan? Showing concern for him? Laughable. He tensed as he became aware of the fact that Hogan was still holding his arm. “I’m fine, Hogan—just let go of me.” He wrenched his arm out of Hogan’s grasp, ignoring the confused look on the American’s face. “What do you want? I’m very busy right now.”

The other man obviously didn’t believe him but seemed willing to let the lie slide. “Right, Commandant. It’s nothing major; it’s just that Escape Committee.” He leaned his head towards Klink, as if intending to share a secret. “They’re planning an escape—they say the place is starting to feel like a POW camp.”

Klink shook his head. With everything that had happened already today and everything he had to worry about, he was in no mood to play the American’s mind games. “Colonel Hogan, whatever it is that you’re going to ask me for, the request is denied. Dismissed!”

While it would have been nice if this was all it would take to make Hogan leave, Klink knew better.

“But, Commandant,” Hogan protested, “all they want is some wallpaper—some nice floral prints. You know, to make the place more homey.”

Klink restrained a sigh with difficulty. Where did Hogan come up with these things! “This isn’t a resort, Colonel.” He walked around the desk and sat heavily into his chair. “Your ‘Escape Committee’ will just have to find some other way to make themselves feel at home.”

Hogan nodded. “I’ll be sure to tell them that, sir.” Then he smiled, a sudden gleam in his eye. “Of course, nothing would make them feel closer to home than escaping Stalag 13.”

This time, Klink did sigh. “You do that,” he said, too drained to take Hogan’s bait. “Just tell them to escape quietly. I’m going to want to sleep after tonight.”

For a moment, the other man seemed uncertain, but he recovered quickly. “All right. I’ll just have them finish knitting that blanket for you before they leave—so you don’t catch cold.”

Klink blinked. “A blanket? For me? That’s nice of—” he broke off as the rest of the statement penetrated. “Catch cold?”

“When you get sent off to the Russian Front, you’ll need every blanket you can get!” Hogan sighed and shook his head. “Imagine how it’ll look for you if a bunch of prisoners escape now—what with that General here and all.” Hogan didn’t wait for a response; he had more to say. “What were you two talking about anyway?”

The question was asked in an innocent tone (well, as innocent as Colonel Hogan could manage), but Klink suddenly felt as though it was getting harder to breathe. “H-how did you know I was talking to General Adler? What do you know about it?” Oh God. If anyone found out about the deal he’d made—

Hogan raised his hands as if in surrender, and Klink realized his questions had come out a bit shriller than he’d intended. If Hogan hadn’t been suspicious before … well, there was no reason to think he could possibly guess what was actually going on. At worst, Klink had given Hogan something to be curious about but nothing more. He was just being paranoid.

“I don’t know anything,” Hogan denied, all wounded innocence. “I tried to see you earlier, but Hilda wouldn’t let me. She held me down so long, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get up again!” He stared at Klink with a scandalized expression. “I thought I told you that using Judo on the prisoners was against the Geneva Convention.”

It was a definite relief to Klink to find himself presented with a familiar topic (a safe topic) of discussion. “I don’t believe that the Geneva Convention says anything about Judo.” Actually, he knew for a fact that it didn’t: the last time Hogan had made this complaint, Klink had made it a point to read through the entire document again and find out.

With the same scandalized expression, Hogan argued, “Of course it does; it’s in the same section that deals with every prisoner’s right to one manicure a month.” Then the gleam in the his eye returned. “You and the General talk about anything interesting?”

Interesting? ‘Interesting’ wasn’t the word Klink would have chosen to describe that particular conversation. “Nothing I want to discuss with you, Hogan.” He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to discuss it with anyone—least of all the Senior POW.

“Aw, come on, Commandant! It’s not like we get a lot of news around here.”

God, he was tired. “And you won’t be getting any from me. Now, if all you want to do is harass me, then I suggest you leave before I call for Schultz and have him remove you.”

Hogan was unmoved by the threat. “What about the wallpaper?”

If nothing else, the American was persistent. It was a trait the Kommandant secretly admired on most days. However, today was not most days, and he wondered why the man had to be so difficult. And over wallpaper, of all things!

The easiest way to rid himself of Hogan would be to agree now. But in truth, he wasn’t sure how much this wallpaper would cost him or where he’d get it, and he was in no condition to negotiate terms with the American at the moment. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’ll give your request some thought, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” Before Hogan could object, he added, “I will be more likely to decide in your favor if I don’t see you until then.”

“Uh, all right, sir.” At any other time, the uncertain expression on Hogan’s face would have amused Klink greatly—it wasn’t often the American looked or sounded anything less than confident—, and he would have had to fight the urge to laugh. As it was, Klink only stared back without feeling much of anything except weariness. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Fine, Hogan,” Klink replied, forcing a note of civility into his voice he did not feel. “Now, please leave. I’m very busy. Dismissed.” Satisfied the conversation was over, he focused his attention on the paperwork in front of him. Might as well pretend he wasn’t lying about being busy until he heard Hogan leave. 

Once the man had shut the door behind him, Klink set his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. One problem settled. Now, his only problem was General Adler and the deal he’d made. 

On the whole, he decided, he’d rather deal with Colonel Hogan and the craziness he caused any day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there was the first chapter. At this time, it behooves me to discuss three points:
> 
> First, this story will contain male rape - I will do my best to treat the subject with the proper amount of seriousness (and under no circumstances with the rapee fall in love with the rapist).
> 
> Second, there will be some uncomplimentary things said about 'homosexuals' - I have no problem with gay people, but considering the time and place that this is set in, well, I doubt there was an overflowing of tolerance.
> 
> And third, my tags are a bit vague, I know. There are things in later chapters that are tag-worthy to some, but I don't want to have tags a-go-go on the summary page. That's why I've also selected "Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings" in addition to the other warnings I've selected. Just so it's understood that the tags I've selected are hardly an exhaustive list of everything that happens in this story.
> 
> Anyway, if you've enjoyed this chapter, please review. If you've hated this chapter, please review. Thank you.


	2. Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

As Colonel Robert Hogan left the Commandant’s office, he could feel the frown creeping onto his face. That hadn’t gone quite as well as he’d hoped. Klink was acting strangely today, and whenever Klink wasn’t acting as he should, it usually meant complications for the operation. This time, it looked like the message to the Underground might have to be delayed.

What was the problem this time? When Hogan had entered the office to find the Commandant sitting on the floor, he’d thought the man had had a heart attack or something equally inconvenient. Fortunately, that had turned out not to be the case, and for a while, things had seemed almost normal. But then … then Klink started acting strangely.

He’d been awfully shaken when Hogan brought Adler up, which meant the General was probably responsible for Klink’s behavior. Hogan wondered what the man had done to make the Commandant so nervous.

Was Klink being blackmailed again? If so, it must be for a lot of money this time; even when he’d needed the five thousand marks, he hadn’t acted this way. He’d been pretty strained then, but he hadn’t acted like he had today: wary and weary.

But whatever Klink’s problem was, Hogan’s main concern was how it was going to affect his mission. And to know that, he needed to know what the problem was and how to take care of it quickly.

As luck would have it, Hogan had thought to have someone mind the coffee pot while General Adler was here. Klink was clearly not ‘top secret’ material, and it never ceased to amaze Hogan how often he was trusted with important information. Sure, his perfect record was impressive to people who’d never met him, but even General Burkhalter, who made it no secret just what he thought of his subordinate, would bring Klink into confidences he had no business even _hearing_ about, never mind being a _part_ of.

Not that Hogan was complaining: it was a lucky break for the Allies.

Hurrying across the compound as quickly as he could without looking suspicious, he returned to Barracks 2. When he got there, he saw the daily poker game was well underway. And as usual, Schultz was losing. Badly. Glancing at the assembled men, he saw Kinch was not among them.

Which meant either something was still happening in Klink’s office (which Hogan doubted considering how the man had looked when he’d left) or Kinch had heard something he wanted to discuss with Hogan in private—otherwise, Kinch would be out watching the poker game with the rest of the men.

Making his way across the room, Hogan nodded greetings to the men who noted his arrival but didn’t stop to speak with them. He needed to find out what was going on, and what, if anything, would have to change to make the mission a success—in his experience, just because Klink had said he’d decide in Hogan’s favor tomorrow, it didn’t mean he actually would.

Stepping into his office, he saw Kinch sitting at the desk, tapping his pen on the notepad in front of him. When Kinch turned around to face the doorway, Hogan could see the strain on his face poorly concealed by a false smile. “Hi, Colonel. No luck with the paper, huh?”

Hogan recognized the question for what it was: a stall. And considering this stall was coming from a man who was usually so straightforward, it did not bode well. “Not today, although he said he’d say yes tomorrow.” He shut the door behind him and crossed his arms. “Now, what’s going on, Kinch?”

Kinch’s smile faltered and died. “Klink’s being blackmailed again.”

Relief flooded through Hogan, and he actually laughed. He’d thought this whole Klink problem was going to be something serious and complicated! Getting the money to Adler without arousing suspicion would be difficult but not impossible. “Is that all?” He uncrossed his arms. “Well, how much money do the boys have to make this time?”

The expression on Kinch’s face warned that Hogan’s relief was premature. “The General doesn’t want money, sir.”

“Oh?” Hogan frowned as he tried to think of anything else of value the Commandant had that someone might want. Some cigars? A slightly worse for wear violin? Adler would hardly have to blackmail someone to get these things. Besides, their loss would do nothing to explain the way Klink was acting.

After giving the matter a bit more thought, he gave up. “What does he want then?”

The other man hesitated for a moment, plainly reluctant to speak and probably thinking of the right way to say what he needed to, before he sighed and shook his head. “He wants Klink to have sex with him.”

Of all the things Hogan had expected to hear, this was nowhere on the list. This was not even a consideration to _be_ on the list. He could feel his mouth drop open as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “What?”

“You heard me, sir.” Kinch crossed his arms and continued, sounding sickened. “General Adler threatened to call up Berlin and tell them Klink was involved in a plot to assassinate the Führer if he refused.”

Hogan sat down in the chair next to Kinch, suddenly feeling as though the world had stopped turning without him. “What did he—?” he broke off the question because he already knew the answer. Suddenly, all the things that had bothered Hogan about his meeting with Klink made sense as he realized what the man had done.

“He agreed to do it, didn’t he?” At this moment, Hogan wasn’t sure who he was more disgusted with: the General for making the demand or the Commandant for agreeing to it. Adler was using blackmail to have sex with a man, but Klink … Klink was a coward, Hogan knew this, but he thought, even so, there must have been _something_ Klink could have done.

Something besides agreeing to play the whore.

Kinch nodded. “I couldn’t hear him very well, but Adler said he’d be back at 2300 to work out the details.” He stared at Hogan expectantly. “So, what do we do, Colonel?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Hogan pulled his cap over his eyes and considered his options. After a moment of consideration, he saw there really weren’t any. While he wasn’t happy with the situation and felt Adler deserved to have something unpleasant happen to him, he realized he could not risk exposing his operation to help the Commandant. As long as neither Klink’s life nor command was threatened (as Klink’s incompetence was a vital component to the operation within Stalag 13), Hogan could not justify the risks.

Besides, since the Commandant had already agreed to do what Adler wanted … maybe he was getting what he deserved. Hogan was not particularly proud of this thought, but he couldn’t deny that more than a small part of him held the opinion. The opinion Klink could have gotten out of this if he’d truly wanted to.

In any event, the matter was out of his hands.

He put his hat back in place. “Nothing.”

Kinch was clearly unhappy with the verdict—whether for Klink’s sake or for the injustice of letting Adler get away with his blackmail, Hogan didn’t know—and he had no problem with making his opinion known. “I don’t like it, sir.”

His own mixed feelings aside, Hogan couldn’t argue with the sentiment. “I don’t like it either, but we can’t get involved with this.”

Kinch nodded his understanding. “I assume you want to keep this between us.”

“For now,” Hogan said as he stood. “Did you hear anything else?”

“No, sir. But,” Kinch paused, looking uncertain before pressing on, “Colonel, if he does this, he might not be the same.”

Hogan, who had been about to leave, stopped short. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about this, sir, and what the General’s doing … it’s a bit like rape, isn’t it?” When Hogan made no move to answer, Kinch continued, his voice becoming less uncertain, “A friend of my sister’s was raped when I was seventeen, and she never got over it. She ended up killing herself.”

Sitting back down, Hogan wondered if he had not considered all the angles. “You think Klink might do something like that?” He considered it a moment more before shaking his head. “I don’t think we’ve got quite the same situation here. Klink had a lot more options open to him than your sister’s friend.” He’d had a choice.

Kinch shrugged. “Maybe. But you didn’t hear him, Colonel. It was—” He interrupted himself with a sigh. “Look, sir, I’m not sure if it’s the same or not—it’s just something to think about when you deal with him tomorrow.”

Hogan was far from convinced but saw no point in upsetting Kinch by saying so. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He got to his feet and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Want to go watch Schultz lose his paycheck again?”

The radioman smiled his first genuine smile of the afternoon. “Doesn’t that man ever learn?”


	3. The Waiting Game

After spending a very frustrating half hour trying to work on his weekly reports, Klink had come to the conclusion he wouldn’t be able to do his usual paperwork today. He found it difficult to concentrate with General Adler’s coming visit preying on his mind.

Once he’d come to that conclusion, he’d told Hilda he would be in his quarters if anyone needed him, implying that someone who needed him had better have a very good reason for disturbing him. At least, he hoped he’d gotten this across. He wasn’t always good at implying things.

Then he’d retired to his quarters, where he spent much of the afternoon pacing around the living room and resisting the urge to get very, very drunk. Occasionally, he’d sit on the couch and try to read—anything to take his mind off of his troubles—but after the fifth time he’d reached the end of a chapter and couldn’t remember anything he’d read, he’d given up on the diversion.

Schultz had brought him dinner at the usual time, and Klink had stared at it; the usually savory smells turning his stomach. He’d poked the meat a few times and moved the potatoes around his plate but hadn’t been able to go so far as to put any of it in his mouth. In the end, he’d thrown the meal into the wastebasket before calling Schultz to take back the empty plate.

Now, he was sitting on the couch, a half-full snifter of brandy in his hand, staring at the clock as it inexorably ticked the time away. In less than an hour, Adler would be here to meet with him, and Klink had decided a little something to settle his nerves would probably do him a world of good. He sipped the liquor slowly, both to enjoy the taste (or to pretend to enjoy the taste) and to give his stomach time to become accustomed to it. It wasn’t often he drank on an empty stomach, but the situation being what it was, he had not felt like eating before, and he definitely didn’t feel like eating now.

He took another sip of brandy and closed his eyes as the questions he’d spent all day worrying about ran through his mind once more. First and foremost of these was: Why was Adler doing this? He was young and clearly a successful soldier of the Third Reich—why would he want to risk exposure? If he was found out, well, the Reich had very clear views about homosexuals and discharge would be the least of the man’s concerns.

That was a big risk, and Klink just couldn’t understand the man wanting to take it. And risking all that trouble for what? Sex with a man old enough to be his father? It was disgusting and not just for the obvious reason that the act was deviant—it was also disgusting the man couldn’t find someone who _wanted_ his attentions. That much wouldn’t have made any difference to the Reich, but it would have made a lot of difference as far as Klink was concerned!

What kind of man enjoyed forcing people to have sex with him?

In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter what kind of man. All that did matter was that Adler clearly was that kind of man, and he’d picked Klink to—

Klink’s mind shied away from the thought. Earlier that afternoon, sometime between the pacing and reading, he had decided to do some research. There hadn’t been much information available on the subject in his office—why would there be?—but he had managed to uncover a few things. Just reading the definition of sodomy had been enough to make him sick. He didn’t want to imagine actually being a … participant.

But before long, maybe even tonight, he would be. He wondered what that would make him. Would it matter, in the grand scheme of things, that he’d be doing it under duress? Or would the fact he would be engaging in the act make him a deviant regardless of the reason?

These were not thoughts he liked to contemplate.

Opening his eyes, he saw it was now 2230. Thirty more minutes and Adler would be here. Thirty more minutes and he would have his answers … one way or the other.

Klink drained the rest of the brandy and set the snifter down on the table. There was a definite temptation to go to the cupboard and fill the glass again, but he fought it down. First, it was far too late to try drinking himself into oblivion now, and even if he did manage to get completely drunk in a half hour, … _submitting_ to the General was bound to be humiliating enough without falling all over himself.

Second, he was pushing his luck as it was—any more liquor on an empty stomach would probably make him vomit.

And third, and most importantly, he wanted his wits about him when Adler came. The man had been hard enough to deal with sober; the idea of facing him drunk was unappealing, to put it mildly. The last thing Klink wanted to be with such a dangerous man was defenseless.

Not that he’d be able to do much if he did have to defend himself...

He eased himself off the couch, feeling slightly stiff from sitting there so long. No reason to put this off any longer: time was running out, and he definitely wanted to be in his office before Adler arrived. He’d decided earlier in the afternoon he wasn’t going to have that, that swine in his quarters if he could help it. He only worked in the office; he lived here.

Once in the office, Klink turned on his desk lamp but left the main lights off. There were two reasons for this: one, he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact someone was in his office to anyone outside—there were times he did work late, and he didn’t want to take the chance of making anyone curious as to what he was up to—, and two, he’d rather not see Adler clearly in light of what they were going to be discussing … or doing.

He looked down at the chair behind the desk and shook his head. No, he didn’t want to be sitting there when Adler arrived. He wanted to be on his feet. Besides, he felt so anxious now, he didn’t think he could sit still that long.

Without anything constructive to use his nervous energy for, he paced in front of the desk, wiping his monocle with shaking hands and wishing there was something he could do to get out of this. Some way to break the deal without being tortured and killed by the Gestapo. He’d spent much of the day thinking about the problem and was no closer to a solution than he’d been when he’d started.

The waiting was terrible. It put him in the mind of a man on a ship that had wandered into the path of a missile: there was no way to escape it, and all he could do was wait for the explosion. Klink was not always a brave man (he was honest enough to admit this was an understatement), and there had been many times in his life when he’d felt powerless, but those times were nothing compared to the helplessness he was feeling now.

He almost wished Adler would show up early—at least then, he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. Only ‘almost’ because, as bad as it was just waiting for Adler, Klink had no doubt things would become much worse once he arrived.

The door opened, and Klink whirled around, afraid his almost wish had been granted after all. He felt all the tension and fear flee from his body as he realized it was only Schultz standing in the doorway. “Schultz!” he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his relief. “What is it? An escape?”

The Sergeant was clearly startled by the over-eager tone of the Kommandant’s questions. “N-no, Kommandant. I only saw that the light was on.”

Klink nodded and tried not to look disappointed; an escape would have given him ample reason to put this meeting with the General off. “Is there anything else?” _Please, God, let there be something else—anything else!_

“No, Kommandant.” He paused, uncomfortable. Then: “Is there something wrong, sir?”

Klink wasn’t sure what amazed him more: that Schultz had noticed something was amiss or that he was actually concerned enough to ask what it was. “Of course there’s nothing wrong,” he answered nonchalantly. “What could be wrong?” Then he laughed.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten he was not very good at ‘nonchalant’, and he’d realized too late the laugh had been a less than convincing mistake—half nerves, half fear, and all forced.

Even Schultz was not stupid enough to be fooled. “Are you sure, Kommandant?”

Why was Schultz suddenly so concerned about his welfare? Was it _that_ cold outside? “Yes, Sergeant.” He had to get Schultz out of here before General Adler arrived—but how? For some reason, the Sergeant seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Whether it was concern or cold, he had to go. As soon as possible.

Then Klink thought of something that would make the fat man only too happy to leave. “There’s just a lot of inventory left to catalog.”

A look of distaste and desperation twisted the other man’s features. “But, Kommandant, I have guard duty right now; I couldn’t—”

Klink had to hide a smile: he knew Schultz had no love for paperwork—even a night out in the cold would be preferable to the Sergeant. “Then why don’t you get back to it, Dummkopf!”

For that one instant, he felt like this was a normal evening and nothing out of ordinary (at least, nothing out of the ordinary for _this_ camp) was happening. But the feeling faded quickly as reality descended on him once more.

Schultz looked relieved. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said with a salute. Once the salute was returned, the Sergeant wasted no time in retreating back outside. Probably afraid Klink would change his mind and make him stay. Or maybe he was just anxious to get back to his napping—if Klink had a Mark for every time he caught that man sleeping on the job...

At any other time, the thought would have made Klink shake his head ruefully and wonder why he had not transferred Schultz to someplace else. Tonight, he found himself caring very little about his Sergeant’s incompetence. In comparison to his current trouble, any problems he had with Schultz faded into insignificance.

He bit the tip of his thumb, feeling drained. Why was this happening to him? Despite his best efforts, this question kept running circles in his mind. Had he done something to upset the General? Had he said something he shouldn’t have? And why had Adler chosen him to do this to in the first place? The General had been conducting these inspections for several months at least—in all that time, had he found no one else to foist his sick desires on?

Or had he? Klink didn’t doubt Adler was more than capable of ‘breaking’ people as he’d claimed, but if he had done this before, why hadn’t he been caught? It seemed to Klink that someone, somewhere along the line, would have had to turn him in.

 _Why?_ a dark corner of his mind sneered. _You aren’t going to tell—what makes you think that any of those men would be any braver than you are?_ And, even if they were braver, who knew if they’d be in any condition to tell once they’d been ‘broken.’

He had to concede the point: he certainly didn’t plan on going to the authorities—and not just because Adler had told him not to. He barely felt like he could look anyone in the eye now that he’d made that deal with Adler—how much worse would it be after Adler actually called the deal in?

Not for the first time that day, Klink wondered if he’d made the right decision. Being alive had to be better than being dead, but he wasn’t sure what his life was going to be like after Adler … collected. Maybe there were worse things than dying and maybe he would be better off never having the chance to find out—

No! He couldn’t think like that! He had to remain po—well, ‘positive’ was probably far too optimistic a word considering the situation. Still, he had to believe the humiliation of letting Adler … of submitting to the General was worth his life. He had to.

And in his heart of hearts, he did believe. But the dark part of his mind wondered just how much his life would be worth afterwards.

The clock chimed the hour, and Klink stood a little straighter, replacing his monocle as he turned towards the door. This was it. He had no more time for doubts. He had no choice but to believe he’d made the right decision. Adler would be here any moment, and Klink wanted to show as little weakness as possible.

It was, more likely than not, a wasted effort: he doubted anything he did now would make the slightest difference as far as Adler was concerned.

The door opened quickly and banged against the wall. The sound made Klink jump a bit, and Adler stepped inside, chuckling. “Good evening, Colonel.” He locked the door behind him before turning back to give Klink a smug, predatory smile. “Just the man I wanted to see.”


	4. A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has had somewhat graphic content.

Adler looked around the room before settling his gaze onto Klink. “I wasn’t certain you’d show after our discussion this afternoon.”

Klink shifted uneasily under Adler’s scrutiny, wondering how he could feel so exposed under so many layers. “I didn’t think you’d given me much of a choice, General.”

“Very perceptive of you, Wilhelm,” Adler laughed in a self-satisfied way as he closed most of the space between them. “You don’t mind if I call you ‘Wilhelm’, do you?”

He did mind (the way Adler said his given name made it sound slimy, and he was uncomfortable with the General being so familiar with him), but Klink was not foolish enough to believe the other man was actually asking for his permission. “Whatever you want is fine with me, General,” he answered, immediately wanting to wince at how enthusiastic he sounded. However different this situation was from the ones he dealt with normally, and no matter how unworthy the man in question was of the title, Adler was still a general and old habits did not distinguish well.

Adler’s smile widened as he reached out a hand and cupped Klink’s cheek. “That is very … accommodating of you, Wilhelm.” His fingers trailed down Klink’s face to rest on his arm. “A very good attitude to have.”

If Klink’s backside hadn’t already been touching the desk, he would have backed up when Adler stepped forward. As it was, he found himself pinned once more as Adler casually worked open the buttons of Klink’s uniform jacket. “Keep up that attitude, and I’ll make sure this goes well for you.” 

_Goes well?_ Klink thought incredulously. He was so disgusted by the notion he found himself speaking before he could think better of it. “How could this possibly ‘go well’ for me?”

The General’s hands paused for a moment, and Klink realized too late that saying his thought aloud had been unwise. Something dangerous flickered across the man’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then he bowed his head slightly and remarked in an airy tone: “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes.”

In short order, the jacket was unbuttoned, removed and tossed onto the floor. Klink shivered both at the loss of warmth and at the realization that Adler planned on … collecting tonight after all. He’d understood before, when Adler had made that ‘goes well’ comment, but it hadn’t seemed real then. This, unfortunately, did—especially now with Adler rubbing his chest through the thin material of his shirt and leaning in for a kiss.

As Adler lips touched his own and the other man’s tongue forced itself into his mouth for the second time, Klink decided he hated this more than the hands fondling his chest. All of Adler’s touches were sickening to him to be sure, but kissing this way was just so … intimate.

In his experience, he’d only ever kissed people he’d liked or at the very least, had been attracted to. He would never have even entertained the thought of kissing someone who didn’t want to kiss him—would have defeated the purpose in his mind.

Contrasting that with what was happening now... There really was no comparison. Adler clearly didn’t care Klink wasn’t kissing him back, and the man wouldn’t be doing this to him if he liked Klink at all. So, why was he doing this?

Adler broke the kiss and smiled hungrily, reaching for Klink’s tie. “You’re doing well so far, Wilhelm.”

In some ways, what was happening now seemed worse to Klink than what he imagined would come later, when the General got tired of playing with him. It almost seemed as though Adler was trying to make this perversion something it wasn’t, and the thought made his stomach churn. Klink thought he could handle what would come later if only Adler would stop doing _this_ : this mockery of affection.

“General,” Klink swallowed hard, feeling Adler’s fingers brushing his throat as he loosened his tie, “must you, ah, that is, i-is this necessary?” At the other man’s challenging look, he swallowed again and summoned up his reserve. “Can’t you just,” he waved his hand helplessly as he failed to find the right words. “Just get this over with,” he finished lamely, deciding the wrong words would have to suffice.

Adler chortled nastily, slowly drawing the untied tie off of Klink’s neck. “Would you rather I just rip your clothes off and have at you?” His hands wandered down to Klink’s belt as he spoke. “Trust me, Wilhelm, that is the last thing you want me to do.” Klink recoiled as best he could as the General deliberately rubbed him through his pants. “You would not believe how much a man can bleed if you’re not careful,” he grinned, turning his attention back to the belt.

“I can make it so you’ll limp for weeks,” he said sweetly, working to unfasten the belt. “I can cover you with bruises that you would never be able to hide. I can put you in such agony that you’ll wish you’d taken your chances with the Gestapo.” Adler finished with the belt and leaned in close, his breath hot on Klink’s cool, bloodless cheek. “Is that really what you want, Wilhelm? If it is, just say the word.”

“No,” Klink whispered, turning his head away. Bile threatened to rise up, and he swallowed it back with difficulty. _Dear God._ He hated this pretend intimacy, but when Adler put the alternative like that... What choice did he have but to accept?

“A wise decision,” Adler said sagely. Then he reached out and turned Klink’s face back to his. “It’s not so bad this way, you’ll see.”

‘Not so bad’ was bad enough in Klink’s opinion—the fact Adler was leaning in for another kiss solidified this opinion. “B-but why are you doing all this?”

Adler’s smile thinned. “You do like to talk, don’t you.” With a gentleness at odds with the dangerous expression in his eyes, he removed Klink’s monocle before casually tossing it over his shoulder. Klink flinched at the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. “I’m doing ‘all this’ because I want to.” His smile disappeared and the grip on Klink’s chin became uncomfortably tight. “I own you, and I can do what I like with you—remember that.”

After a long moment, he let go and smiled again. “Now, where were we?”

Thinking this was a rhetorical question, Klink made no attempt to answer. A few seconds later, his hand edged up to his stinging cheek as he stared dumfounded at Adler’s livid face and still outstretched hand.

“I asked you a question! When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Do you understand that!”

Klink was not always a fast learner, but this time, the lesson was fairly simple, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. “Y-yes.”

“So, what will you do next time I ask you a question?”

He closed his eyes briefly. So, this was how it was going to be. As though this whole thing hadn’t been humiliating enough already. “I’ll answer.”

“Very good, Wilhelm!” Adler exclaimed, as though praising a dog that had completed a difficult trick. Then his expression sobered and a hint of malice entered his tone. “Now, where were we?”

“Ah,” Klink stalled, both because he didn’t know for certain what Adler wanted to hear and because the more time he took to answer, the more time it would be before he was groped again. Unfortunately, it was clear the General was running out of patience and Klink was running out of time. “Ah, you were … going to … kiss me?”

Adler nodded. “Exactly right. I think it’s time we got back to it, don’t you?” The warning smile on his face told Klink he was expecting an answer to this question as well.

And Klink knew what answer he was expecting. He hesitated for only a moment before bowing his head in defeat. “Yes.”

“No need to sound so downhearted, Wilhelm.” Adler smirked before stepping back and roughly pulling Klink’s pants down to his knees. “As long as you do as I say, you won’t be hurt,” he said, slipping the underwear down as well. “You may even enjoy yourself.”

If Klink hadn’t felt so mortified and afraid, he would have laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. He couldn’t imagine enjoying anything Adler had planned—what the man had done so far had made Klink grateful he hadn’t been able to eat.

There was nothing the General could do now that would make him feel any differently.

“It doesn’t matter to _me_ one way or the other,” Adler shrugged, standing up again, “but just think of the fun we could have finding out.”

Klink did and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the man anymore. He opened them with a jerk as Adler started to fondle his nether regions. Without conscious thought, he grabbed the General’s hands to stop him—

“Klink,” Adler’s tone had lost what warmth it had held, “I’ll give you exactly three seconds to move your hands.”

Klink did not have to be told twice. A tense silence followed, and he wondered what Adler would do now. He wasn’t always good at predicting how people would react, but the difficulty seemed doubled when it came to Adler—his unpredictability was disturbing.

For a long while, Adler merely glared at him through slitted eyes. Then he shook his head and tutted like a disappointed and frustrated parent. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think you want to do this the hard way after all! You ought to be grateful for all the trouble I’m going to for your sake.”

He crossed his arms with a put upon sigh and straightened up. “Now, just apologize for getting in my way, and we can forget this whole thing and move on.” Adler said this in such a casual, reasonable way it took Klink a moment to realize just what madness was being demanded of him this time. Once he did—

Rage surged through Klink, startling him with its fury. Apologize? This, this monster expected _him_ to apologize? For not staying still and letting himself be molested! For several seconds, rage fought with fear, but as he remembered what the General had said that afternoon—not only about calling the Gestapo but why he was doing this in the first place... 

There was only one reason Adler wasn’t going to ‘break’ him as he’d said he’d done to others, and that reason was Adler wanted to do this instead. Klink hadn’t known the man very long, but it was obvious the only thing Adler cared about was himself, what he wanted. And if he suddenly decided this method was too much trouble...

Rage lost to fear, but Klink had to clench his fist tightly to keep himself from saying what he wanted to when he finally spoke. “I … I apologize.”

“For what? Be precise.”

“I apologize for,” the clenched fist shook with something more substantial than fear, “getting in your way.”

Adler’s already smug expression managed to become even smugger. “Just be careful,” he admonished lightly before ice entered his tone. “I may not be as forgiving next time.”

Without any further words, he uncrossed his arms and went back to what he’d been doing before he’d been ‘so rudely’ interrupted. “It would go better for you if you’d just relax.”

As though anything about this was relaxing. The none too gentle prodding and pulling sent unpleasant shivers up Klink’s spine, and he wished he was brave enough to put a stop to this and just damn the consequences.

Of course, had he been that brave, Adler would have called the Gestapo, and he’d be in their hands by now. Even with all this... Even with everything Adler was doing to him, Klink still wanted to live. As uncomfortable as this was, it wasn’t worse than being dead.

So, he did his best to keep still: he was not anxious to find out how Adler would be when he wasn’t being ‘so forgiving’, and he figured the sooner the General had his fill of this, the sooner it’d be over. That was his hope, anyway.

Keeping still was no easy task. It was sickening and humiliating and not just because he was being touched in such an intimate place by such an odious person. There was something not quite buried under the nausea he was feeling that he couldn’t quite ignore; something he simply could not believe he was managing to feel under the circumstances.

Had it really been so long since he’d had a … tryst that he’d react to any touch at all?

Abruptly, the hands left his groin. Before Klink had any time to feel any relief about this, Adler started kissing him again. It was different this time: so insistent that, within a short while, it started to hurt. Klink hadn’t thought one could hurt someone by kissing them, and he wished he hadn’t had the opportunity to find this out first hand.

Adler forced him to lean backwards on the desk top, and Klink stifled a cry as the cigar box (at least, that’s what he figured it was) dug into his back. Without ending the kiss, Adler pulled him forward, and Klink heard crashes as things hit the floor. He realized, as Adler pushed him back again, what he’d heard fall.

For a brief moment, Klink was more concerned about the condition of the things on the floor than he was about his own. Another pointed grope put any concerns he had about his possessions out of his mind. _Dear God, why is this happening?_

Finally, Adler ended the kiss and let him breathe again. “Good news, Wilhelm! I think you’ll be happy to know that we can finally ‘get on with it’. I just need a moment to prepare.”

Klink could feel spit around his mouth, and once the General moved away, he quickly ran the back of his hand across his lips. _Disgusting._ He wiped his hand off on his shirt and stood up and stretched, trying to work out a crick in his back.

Looking ahead, he could just see in the newly dim light what Adler had meant by ‘prepare’: the man’s pants and underwear were down to his knees, and he was stroking himself with some kind of salve from a jar in his hand.

Looking away with a shudder, Klink let his gaze fall to the floor. The first thing he saw was the desk lamp, which despite the fall to the floor, still worked. The shade was broken, but he thought he might be able to fix that. However, the other things on the floor might not be so easy to repair—

“All right, Wilhelm,” Adler ordered, “turn around.”

Klink turned slowly and wondered if, maybe, he’d been better off with the kissing and groping. Of course, the sooner this was over with, the sooner he could lock himself in his quarters and forget that any of this had ever happened.

He doubted, as Adler made him bend over the desk, it would be so easy. 


	5. Listening in the Dark

Hogan couldn’t sleep. It was late, almost 2300 according to his watch, and he felt tired, but no matter what he did, sleep wouldn’t come. Unfortunately, he knew the reason why: it was Klink’s fault, the spineless rat—

Rubbing his eyes, Hogan sat up and sighed. This was stupid. What was he losing sleep for? He’d made the right decision—there was no point in risking the lives of his men to save an enemy some humiliation. The Commandant wasn’t in danger of being replaced or killed, and besides, the man had already made his choice to agree to Adler’s demand.

As far as he was concerned, Klink had made his bed. Hogan couldn’t even feel sorry for the man because it was obvious he hadn’t even _tried_ to think of an alternative to letting the General take advantage of him.

So, why was he losing sleep? Klink was not his responsibility. And even if he had been, well, what was Hogan supposed to do about any of it now? It was too late.

And even if it wasn’t, he’d made the right choice.

Besides, he was sure once Adler was gone, things at Stalag 13 would continue in much the same way as they had before. Remembering Kinch’s warning, he allowed that the Commandant might be out of sorts for a while, but he was confident Klink would be his same old obnoxious self in no time.

It wasn’t as if Klink was a completely unwilling participant anyway. He hadn’t had to make that deal with Adler—if he hadn’t wanted to do it at all, he could have found a way out. It was really that simple.

Simple or not, it was a bit confusing. Before any of this had come up, Hogan wouldn’t have believed that their ‘beloved’ Commandant had any leanings towards men. Despite a nearly complete lack of success with women (at least, in the time Hogan had known him), Klink had never failed to appreciate the fairer sex. Whether or not they appreciated him was besides the point, which was that the Commandant liked women.

But, if that was true, why did he agree to have sex with Adler? Not that Hogan particularly cared about the details of Klink’s love life—picturing Klink with anyone was not anything he wanted to spend much time imagining—but Hogan was the sort of man who didn’t like a mystery. Of course, there really wasn’t a way to figure this one out...

In the dim glow of the sweeping search lights outside, Hogan found himself looking at the coffee pot. Almost without his own volition, he got out of bed and sat down in the chair beside the table. The idea of listening in right now in light of what he guessed might be going on was a sickening one, but he couldn’t deny that he was more than a little curious as to whether or not Klink was actually going through with it.

But was he curious enough to turn the receiver on and listen? 

His hand hovered over the on switch, and after a long moment of deliberation, he switched it on—

—and heard nothing. Seemed a bit anti-climatic after all the hemming and hawing he’d done. Not that he was disappointed: he’d rather have triple helpings of the mess hall sawdust bread than hear Klink and Adler... In fact, he decided that he was better off not thinking about them together at all.

He’d been about to cut the connection when he heard the unmistakable sound of a hand striking flesh. Then he heard Adler’s voice shout with anger. “I asked you a question! When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Do you understand that!”

“Y-yes,” came the faint reply. Klink’s voice, although he didn’t sound much like himself.

“So, what will you do next time I ask you a question?”

A pause, then: “I’ll answer.”

“Very good, Wilhelm!” _Wilhelm?_ Hogan frowned. Adler was being awfully chummy with Klink considering he’d just hit him. What was Adler’s angle? When he spoke again, there was no mistaking the dangerous edge in his tone. “Now, where were we?”

Klink made a couple nearly inaudible sounds before giving an answer Hogan wished had been equally inaudible. “You were … going to … kiss me?”

Hogan switched off the coffee pot quickly. He didn’t need to hear any more of this—he was no voyeur, and he’d heard more than enough already. Staring off into the shadows, he felt a rush of compassion for Klink. That General Adler was some piece of work. Some nasty piece of work.

His compassion was soon tempered by the feeling Klink almost deserved to be in that situation for being so stupid. It should have been obvious that making any sort of deal with a man like Adler wouldn’t lead to anything good. Klink should have tried harder to find another way of dealing with the General. There must have been something else he could have done.

 _Like what?_ demanded an inner voice, which sounded suspiciously like Kinch. _What could he have done?_

For a moment, Hogan froze because he couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head. Then he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He’d been up too long to be worrying about things like this—there had been an alternative, but he was just too tired to see it right now. Besides, it no longer mattered if there _had_ been an alternative: it sounded as though, fairly soon, the transaction would be complete and that would be the end of it.

That would be the end of it.

Hogan yawned and stood to go back to his bunk. Even with the faint doubts ringing in the back of his mind, he knew everything would make more sense in the morning. Everything always looked better in the morning.


	6. The Worst is Over ... For Now

“You can get dressed now, Wilhelm.”

It took a moment for Klink to realize he’d been spoken to. He felt dazed, as though he was seeing and hearing everything from under layers of cotton. The same could not be said for the aches he felt in his back and stomach or the pain in his rear—he could feel those quite well.

“I said you can get dressed, Wilhelm,” Adler repeated in a soft tone one could have mistaken for concern or tenderness if one didn’t know what kind of man he was and what he was capable of.

Unfortunately, Klink knew exactly what sort of man he was and wasn’t fooled for a moment.

He opened his eyes and bit back a sigh. When was this going to be over? With more effort than he thought it should have taken, he stood up straight again, feeling his back protest the movement. He was only grateful that he wasn’t facing Adler. That beast’s face was the last thing Klink needed to see after he’d—

_Don’t think about it._

Doing his best to ignore the pain in his backside, he bent down and pulled up his pants. Buttoning them, he noticed that his hands were shaking. He tried to make them stop, but they seemed to be beyond his control. It seemed that no part of his body was listening to him tonight.

“Turn around; let me look at you.”

Reluctantly, Klink did so. In the dim light, he could see that Adler had already dressed and was wiping his hands on a handkerchief. His stomach lurched at the silent reminder of what he’d done.

“You look almost presentable again,” Adler chuckled as he put the handkerchief in his pocket. Then he grinned, showing too many teeth. “See, Wilhelm? I told you that you’d enjoy yourself, didn’t I?”

Klink glared at him but said nothing. What was there to say? He didn’t want to give the swine the satisfaction of a ‘yes’ answer, but … he could hardly deny it, could he? Not when he’d ejaculated into Adler’s hand. All he could do was wonder when he’d become the sort of man who got pleasure from being hurt. The sort of man who enjoyed being molested by someone he despised.

“Didn’t I?”

There was an edge to Adler’s voice, but Klink could not bring himself to care very much about it. He was far too busy trying to steer his thoughts in a less distressing direction, so as not to vomit, to care about the other man’s growing displeasure and what would happen once he lost his temper.

It hadn’t taken long. Klink watched impassively as Adler brought his hand back and slapped him again. The force of it made his ears ring, but it saved him the trouble of having to turn his head to look away. Had to stay optimistic.

“Answer the question!”

Klink closed his eyes. _Might as well give him what he wants,_ he thought tiredly. It wasn’t as though he had much to lose now by answering, did he? It wasn’t as though he’d be losing any self-respect—Adler had already done a fine job of taking most of that away already.

It was a little late to worry about denying Adler any satisfaction.

And he knew the sooner he answered the question, the sooner the General would leave. Seemed like a fair trade for what pride he’d managed to salvage after his experience. “Yes.”

“Yes what? Be precise.”

 _Just give him what he wants. Just give him what he wants, and he’ll leave._ “Yes, you said that I’d,” Klink’s stomach lurched again, and he swallowed hard. He didn’t have very much self-respect left, but he had enough that he didn’t want to be sick while Adler was still here. There hadn’t been much he’d been able to do tonight, but he thought he’d be satisfied if he could just do that much. “I’d … enjoy m-myself.”

Adler reached out his hand and grabbed Klink’s chin, forcing Klink to look at him again. “Don’t worry, Wilhelm,” he said, his attempted compassion betrayed by the cruel pleasure shining in his eyes, “it will be easier next time, you’ll see.”

He leaned in for another kiss, but Klink pushed him away, his panic over the phrase ‘next time’ and what that might mean giving him enough desperate courage he didn’t care what Adler’s reaction might be.

“Next time? Wh-what do you mean next time?”

For a split second, Adler looked like he was going to do something violent before he smiled an oily smile. “The use of your body for the safe keeping of your secrets, remember?” Not waiting for an answer, he pinned Klink against the desk again, placing his hands to either side to stop him from slipping away. “You are mine,” he hissed, bringing his face so close that Klink’s nose touched his. “You are mine until I decide I’m done with you.” His voice became a dangerous whisper. “Understand?”

Klink suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Dear God. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t over. It’d never be over. It’d been bad enough when he’d thought that it was just going to be this once—to do this again and again? To let that, that fiend defile him over and over? He’d rather die! He’d rather—

No! What was he thinking! He wouldn’t rather die … would he? He shook his head. Of course not. Of course not. 

Adler seemed genuinely confused. “You don’t understand?” Then his voice became as sharp as the glint in his eye. “Perhaps you need another lesson.”

Realizing what had happened, and not anxious to be hit again if he could avoid it, Klink waved his hands frantically. “No, I understand! I understand completely, I assure you!”

“Really?” He didn’t look as though he quite believed this, but he shrugged. “Very well, Wilhelm, I’ll take your word for it.” He smiled. “Now, then, I do have other things to attend to.” After giving Klink a quick kiss on the lips, he went to the door and unlocked it. Then he turned back and bowed his head slightly. “Until tomorrow.”

Once the door shut behind him, Klink limped over to the chair on the other side of the desk and fell into it, wincing as the movement jarred his sore backside. Now what was he going to do? He hadn’t been prepared for any of this before; he felt even less so now.

 _‘Next time.’_ How many next times were there going to be? How many times would Adler make him pay? How long would it take for him to decide that he was ‘done’? Weeks? Months? Years? Would he have to do this for the rest of his life? Would he—

Finally, Klink’s long suffering stomach rebelled. It was only a matter of luck that he’d managed to vomit on the floor rather than on himself. His stomach emptied quickly (by virtue of the fact there hadn’t been much in it in the first place), and once the heaves stopped, he sat back in the chair, breathing in great gulps of air and trying to hold back his growing panic. He had to be calm. He had to be calm. He had to be—

Oh, who was he trying to fool? He had a hard time being calm when the stakes were small; there was no way he’d be able to be calm about something like this. Besides, being calm wasn’t going to make Adler change his mind about ‘next time’. It wouldn’t make Adler tire of him any sooner. And it wouldn’t keep Adler from calling the deal in as many times as he wished.

 _But why are you getting so upset about it?_ a dark part of him questioned in a nasty tone. Hadn’t he enjoyed what Adler had done to him? Wasn’t he the sort of man who found pleasure from being degraded and in pain? Adler’s hands had felt like worms on his skin, and he’d still lost control. Clearly, he was a sick, sick man.

In all the years he’d been old enough to care about such things, Klink had thought he’d come to know himself quite well. Come to know who he was and what he liked. Who he liked. And now? Now it turned out he’d been lying to himself the whole time. It turned out he was nothing but a deviant with a disgusting fetish.

Maybe he would have been better off with the Gestapo. At least with them, he could have died believing he was a man instead of whatever it was he was now. Maybe it would have been better...

He shook his head with a sigh. No, couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t think that he’d be better off dead than where he’d found himself. He simply couldn’t. If he did, then what was the point in having done this in the first place? Klink couldn’t bear the thought of enduring this much humiliation and pain for nothing. He had to believe that his life still held some value.

And he did believe … it just seemed as though his life had held more value in the afternoon than it did now.

Klink felt tears dripping down his face, and he swiped at them without much conviction. Some part of him was scolding him, telling him that he shouldn’t be letting himself cry like this—what sort of man blubbered like a baby?—but he felt too exhausted to worry about something so petty.

Instead, he surveyed his office. Even in the dim light, he could see it was a disaster. A complete disaster. And he knew there would be questions in the morning if he didn’t at least attempt to do something about it now. Slowly, mindful of his aches, he stood and limped his way over to the switch for the main lights. He wanted to be able to see what he was doing.

On his way, he heard a crunching sound as he stepped down. Carefully bending over, he picked up the cold, round object and saw it was his monocle. He stared at it for a moment before deciding it was a lost cause. Fortunately, he had spares for just this sort of occasion.

Of course, he’d have to make sure to take off the new monocle himself next time or else he’d be libel to run out of spares... 

He resisted the urge to slap himself with difficulty. With everything he had to worry about, he was worried about running out of spare monocles? He could see where monocles were much higher on the priority list than, say, the fact there was going to be a next time in the first place. Yes, that certainly made sense!

Laughter came out of nowhere, and it took Klink a second or two to realize he was the one laughing. His thoughts didn’t really warrant any kind of laughter, but he decided he didn’t care. Laughing felt a lot better than crying even if the laughter didn’t sound quite sane.

At the same time, he changed direction and limped towards his quarters instead. Honestly, he thought he had more important things to be concerned with than the cleanliness of his office. Who did he think was going to ask questions, anyway? No one would care.

Besides, Klink felt filthy and he wanted to wash as much Adler off his skin and out of his body as he could. Maybe then he could go to sleep and forget for awhile just what sort of mess he’d managed to get himself into. In his opinion, that was much more important than cleaning an office.

After all, the things on the floor were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves until morning.


	7. A Woman's Work is Never Fun

Fraulein Hilda was not generally one to go to work early. There was nothing wrong with her work ethic—she prided herself on being a hard worker. It was just that she didn’t believe in doing extra work without extra pay to go with it: you didn’t get very far in this world if you made a habit of doing something for nothing.

But here she was, bright and early (or, to be more accurate, dim and early) on a Tuesday morning, at the gates of Stalag 13, waiting to be let in. It was her father’s fault: she relied on him to drive her to work, and he’d had to go to the factory early today. So, of course, now she had to be early too. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to stand out for very long: while this January was proving to be mild, it was still cold. 

“Fraulein? You’re a bit early today, aren’t you?”

Hilda flashed a smile at the handsome guard whose name she kept forgetting but thought might be Kurt. “Not at all; I just couldn’t bear to stay away any longer.”

Kurt? smiled back, his gaze becoming more … appreciative. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“No?” she questioned with mock hurt. “Are you calling me a liar, Corporal?”

His expression immediately sobered, showing her he was too inexperienced to catch the subtleties of the game. “Of course not, Fraulein.”

Which was fine with her. Sure, Kurt, or whatever his name was, was handsome enough and he had a nice smile, but her heart already belonged to someone else. Someone it had no business belonging to.

“Well, aren’t you going to let me in?”

Someone she never wanted to have to admit could never be hers.

“Of course, Fraulein! I’m sorry.”

Once the gates were open and she bid the now apologetic guard farewell, Hilda made her way to the office building. Her main hope, as she climbed up the steps, was that today would be better than yesterday. Well, yesterday afternoon, at least. Yesterday afternoon had been very . . . frustrating.

If the Kommandant wanted to waste his afternoon holed up in his quarters, it was no business of hers. However, she didn’t think it was asking so much that he at least leave her something to do in the meantime. There were only so many times a person can file the same files. Her nails had five layers of polish on them—she’d been so bored!

Of course, if a certain American had come back, maybe the afternoon wouldn’t have been a _total_ loss...

Shaking her head, she went inside the building and hung her coat on the rack. She started for her desk before slowing to a stop in front of it. Unsurprisingly, it was in the same condition she’d left it in yesterday evening, and looking at the oh, so careful! placement of everything made her feel tired. She liked to keep things tidy, of course, but the only reason everything was so carefully placed was she’d literally had nothing better to do yesterday.

Did she really want to sit there for the next hour or so and stare at the wall while she waited for someone to come and give her something to do? No, but what else was there to be done? Turning her head, her gaze settled on the office door. Maybe Colonel Klink had finished with yesterday’s reports before deciding to hide away.

Hilda was halfway to the door before she stopped herself. What if the Kommandant was already in there? Did she really want him to know she was in so early—she certainly didn’t want to give the man the idea she was going to make a habit of this! And even if he wasn’t in yet, wouldn’t it be a bit presumptuous of her—digging through the Kommandant’s things like that?

Glancing back at her immaculately organized desk, she made her decision.

After knocking, just in case he was in after all, Hilda swung open the office door—

—and immediately wanted to gag. The stench of vomit assaulted her nose, and her face scrunched up with distaste as she turned on the light. She looked around in confusion at the unexpected mess. Papers littered the floor, and not just papers, for she saw a lamp shining down there, too. Casting her eyes up, she saw the desk was completely bare. “What in the world?”

Tearing her eyes away from the mess, she stalked over to the window and opened it wide, deciding the chilly air was preferable to the smell. Hilda turned back and carefully walked to the lamp on the floor. Mindful of the heat from the bulb, had it been on all night?, she shut it off and set it on the desk.

What had happened in here? Did she even want to know? Was the Colonel responsible for this mess? Looking towards the door of his private quarters, she saw his uniform jacket on the floor. Considering how much pride the man took in his appearance, it struck her as deeply wrong to see something so important casually tossed aside like so much garbage.

Hilda didn’t like this. Something about this situation was making her stomach do little flips and it wasn’t the smell. It looked like something had happened here. Something serious.

Walking towards the uniform jacket (with the intention of at least picking it up off the floor before it got dirty), she kicked something. Looking down, she saw it was the Colonel’s pike helmet from the Great War. Now that was something she definitely knew he wouldn’t just leave on the floor! Picking it up, she turned it over in her hands as her thoughts turned over in her mind.

What to do? What to do? It was obvious things were far from being well. Something was going on, and it was obvious the only way she was going to get any answers would be to locate Colonel Klink. Possibly, she wasn’t entitled to the answers she wanted, but she thought she’d be satisfied just knowing the Kommandant was all right.

She was a bit surprised at the vehemence of this thought. It wasn’t as though she was overly fond of her current employer: he had more than his share of faults. He was self absorbed and egotistical without being smart enough to be excused for acting that way. He was old and out of touch and had very little in the way of what Hilda liked to call “social graces.”

Of course, he wasn’t all bad, she allowed. The Colonel did his best, and his heart seemed to be in more or less the right place—what else could she ask of anyone?

And for something a bit more pertinent to herself, at least he was content to only look at her. He had enough courtesy to only ogle when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. What he didn’t know was that she always paid attention—when you were young and pretty, you couldn’t afford not to.

She’d learned that the hard way.

Her first employer hadn’t been content to look: he’d liked to touch and had alluded to wanting more than that later. Hilda had soon decided she hadn’t needed the money badly enough to deal with wandering hands every day.

However, there were certain people’s wandering hands she didn’t mind at all. Colonel Hogan’s hands, for instance, could wander wherever they wanted to—

Shaking her head, she placed the helmet on the desk and returned her thoughts to the current problem. Clearly, something was very wrong, and it had to do with Colonel Klink. In order to find out what that something was, she would need to find the man. If he hadn’t left camp, he would almost certainly be in his quarters.

Therein lay the problem. It’d be very improper for her to enter the man’s personal quarters herself, a definite breach of conduct. As strong as her curiosity, her concern was, she couldn’t bring herself to trespass there.

Turning on her heel, Hilda left the office and, stopping only long enough to grab her coat, left the office building in search of someone who could.


	8. Carpe Diem

Once he saw the dim light of the morning sun poking through the curtains, Klink gave up on the hope of getting any sleep. Well, any restful sleep—the few times he’d managed to reach blessed unconsciousness, he’d wake up soon after wanting to scream, remembering nothing about the nightmares he’d had except for the terror and a lingering sense of wrongness that went with them. He figured he was probably better off not remembering: the memories he had were disturbing enough without being twisted by his subconscious. 

It had been a long night... At least, it had seemed that way. Unable to find a comfortable position and with nothing to distract his thoughts but silent darkness, he had waited for morning to come so he could officially ‘wake up’. The only reason he hadn’t gotten up earlier was he’d been clinging to the faint hope of getting the rest he knew he was going to really need.

That hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d wanted it to. _Of course,_ he thought with a wry half smile, _even before yesterday, things seldom work out the way I want them to._

After getting out of bed, Klink closed his eyes and took stock of himself. The aches from the … activities of the night before were still present but didn’t seem too terrible at the moment. He’d manage. Not that he had the option of not managing. The last thing he wanted to do was raise suspicions, and in order to avoid that, he had to carry on as normal.

Normal. As though anything around this insane asylum had ever been ‘normal.’

Klink’s skin still felt a bit raw from the vigorous scrubbing it had received the night before so he settled for washing his face and leaving it at that. As he washed, he did his best to avoid looking in the mirror. Partially, he feared seeing whatever damage Adler might have inflicted, but he mostly hated the thought of looking in the glass and seeing the familiar face there knowing what he now knew. Knowing what sort of man he really was.

He changed into a fresh uniform (sans jacket, which he thought might be in the office), feeling as though it didn’t fit. As if it were choking him. It was as if the uniform sensed how unworthy he was to wear it and had changed accordingly.

Klink realized this was a patently foolish thought: there was nothing wrong with the fit of the uniform that hadn’t always been wrong with it. He knew this, but there was a part of him which believed in the foolishness despite the facts.

It wasn’t until he put in one of the spare monocles that he risked taking a look in the mirror. He was pleasantly surprised. If he looked tired and a bit worn, he was still recognizably himself. For some reason, he’d been expecting a marked difference—that what had happened had changed him in ways anyone could see.

Despite Adler’s violence, there were no bruises on Klink’s face, and he was thankful for the small mercy of not having to try explaining them away. The tiredness was easy enough to account for, assuming anyone cared enough to ask, and he wouldn’t even have to lie about not sleeping well! Bruises would have been much harder.

Looking at the clock, he realized he had to get moving on to the office or risk having it seen as it was. That was something else he didn’t want to explain! But he wasn’t looking forward to the work and not only because it would involve quite a bit of bending. The thought of spending any amount of time in that place was unappealing—no matter what he did, his thoughts were immediately drawn back to what had happened there.

Not something he wanted to think about.

Unfortunately, Klink also remembered he would have to think about it and soon. Adler had … expanded the deal, and he had no doubts the swine would be taking advantage of the position Klink had unwittingly placed himself in.

Klink shivered, almost feeling Adler’s hands on him just from thinking about it.

He’d been about to go into the office, had his hand on the door knob, when he heard hesitant knocking coming from the other side. Who was it? General Adler? He stepped back, feeling his heart climb into his throat. No, that didn’t make sense—the General would hardly bother with knocking. Swallowing, Klink forced himself to calm down. It was probably a member of his staff, and the last thing he needed to do was make a fool of himself.

But why would any of them want him this early in the morning? There was no reason to disturb him so early unless there was an emergency, and he would hope, if that were the case, his men would have enough initiative to just come and get him. Then again, he reconsidered as he grabbed the doorknob once more, he did have men like Sergeant Schultz on his staff—a man with less initiative was hard to imagine.

Klink smiled faintly at the thought and swung the door open before he had a chance to come up with a reason not to.

Standing in the doorway were Corporal Langenscheidt and Fraulein Hilda. The Corporal seemed startled, his hand raised to knock again before he raised it higher to make the motion a salute. Fraulein Hilda also seemed startled but her worried expression quickly melted into something like relief.

Klink couldn’t imagine what she was so relieved about, but there were other questions to be answered first. Such as, what was she doing here so early? For that matter, what was either of them doing here? And why weren’t they speaking?

“Corporal Langenscheidt, Fraulein Hilda,” he said at last, doing his best to hide his nervousness under a mask of professionalism, “why are you here? Is something happening?”

The two glanced at each other before turning back to him. “Well, I—You see, sir—thought that—asked me—”

“Quiet!” Klink exclaimed, wondering how they expected him to understand them both at the same time. He pointed at Langenscheidt, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “You, what are you doing here?”

“I apologize for the intrusion, sir,” he began, sounding chagrined, “but Fraulein Hilda insisted that I check up on you.”

Klink gaped at them, perplexed. “Check up on me?”

Fraulein Hilda stepped forward, bowing her head slightly. “It’s my fault, Kommandant. I saw the mess in your office, and I thought...” she trailed off before shrugging. “I thought something had happened to you.”

And to think the night before, he’d thought no one would notice or care about the condition of the office! Klink stared at her, feeling equal parts touched and terrified. He was touched by her concern but terrified of what suspicions she might have about what had happened to him. The thought of someone somehow piecing it together made his stomach twist.

But he was being foolish again. There was no way for her—for anyone!—, to know what he had done. The evidence of his body’s betrayal was gone, on General Adler’s handkerchief. He’d barely noticed him wiping the desk at the time and hadn’t thought too much about it afterwards.

Klink hated feeling grateful to Adler for anything, but he had to admit he was grateful. For that bit of evidence, no innocent explanation existed.

“Sir?”

“Are you all right?”

For a moment, Klink eyed the two concerned people in front of him and could not remember why they were there. Then it came back to him, and he didn’t understand how he’d managed to forget in the first place. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he offered them a smile and tried to sound as though he’d been paying attention. “I’m fine, Fraulein.”

His secretary frowned, obviously not believing him. “But Kommandant—”

“I’m fine,” he repeated firmly, holding up a hand to forestall anything else she might have wanted to say. “I felt a bit … poorly last night, but I am perfectly all right now. Nothing to worry about.” Klink was almost proud of how sure he sounded saying this—he would never have thought he was such a good actor.

The truth was, even before his thoughts had taken off in a direction of their own, he’d been feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t just the niggling feeling that there was some outward sign of what he’d become. It wasn’t even the simple discomfort from the effort it was taking to keep that damn smile on his face. It was something else. Something harder to pin down.

Glancing at Corporal Langenscheidt, Klink saw the young man was looking at him. Klink’s glance turned into a stare as he tried to figure out why the Corporal was eyeing him so intently. Was it just his imagination, or was there something suspicious in that gaze? Something appraising, perhaps?

Klink could feel his hands starting to shake, and he clenched them into fists. No, he was wrong. He had to be wrong. He was just being foolish again. There was no way what he thought he saw there was what he saw there. He had nothing to fear from his staff. Nothing.

“Sir?”

Why was that so hard to believe?

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Langenscheidt?” Klink demanded, burying his anxiety under a thick layer of irritation.

“Ah, yes, sir,” Langenscheidt replied quickly, clearly confused by the sudden shift in Klink’s mood. “I was just—”

“I don’t care, Corporal.” Klink’s fists clenched just a little tighter. “Just get out of here!”

“O-of course, Kommandant,” the Corporal stuttered, bowing his head and giving a salute. Once his salute had been brusquely returned, the young man left like a shot.

Klink watched him go, immediately feeling calmer. He wasn’t proud that he’d taken his frustrations—his fears—out on the Corporal, but he figured he had other things to worry about. There was no reason to feel guilty. After all, he yelled at Schultz all the time without feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. 

Of course, the Sergeant usually did something to deserve it first.

Realizing his fists were still clenched, he opened his hands and turned back to his secretary. For a split second, her expression flickered between shock and fear but both were quickly replaced by a pleasant but false smile.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just wait for those reports, sir.”

Hilda didn’t wait to be dismissed before leaving the office, and once she was gone, Klink allowed himself a sigh. That could have gone better. At least it was over with … until the next time he had to talk to someone. He looked at the clock and sighed again. Roll call would be in less than an hour, and he still had to clean up the office. 

As he entered the office and closed the door behind him, he felt a sudden bout of vertigo. For an instant it was as if he was back on the desk with Adler and—

“Stop it,” Klink hissed, trying to force the image out of his mind and failing. It was bad enough it had happened in the first place—bad enough he’d enjoyed it!—but why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? Why did he have to keep seeing it? The memory was so vivid, he could almost feel it. He could almost hear Adler’s moans in his ear—

His stomach churned, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on something, anything!, other than his traitorous thoughts. Sweat slicked fists pressed against his forehead as if he could physically force the unpleasant imaginings out of his mind, and he swayed before leaning on the wall, unable to stand upright without the assistance.

_Dear God, why is this happening?_

Klink’s breathing was ragged, and he concentrated on making it more regular, more calm. He had to calm down. What if someone came in now? He had to focus, and if he was concentrating on his breathing, he wouldn’t have to think about things better left unthought about.

By degrees, he felt himself become calmer, more collected. Once he felt that he was collected enough, he opened his eyes and immediately started getting to work. There was quite a lot to do and not very much time left in which to do it

And the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could leave.

Klink had just finished picking up the last of the papers and returning them to their rightful places when he heard the clock chime the hour. Roll call. He slowly put on the uniform jacket he’d picked up earlier, feeling like he was putting on armor. He thought he could use some armor.

Usually, the undisguised dislike and hatred in the faces of the Allied POWs didn’t bother him that much anymore; he had become almost used to it. In his position, he’d had to. Now, considering how badly he’d handled Corporal Langenscheidt earlier—a man who was on his staff, someone who he should have been able to trust—, he wasn’t sure if he could do it. If he could stand there in front of all those prying and hateful gazes and pretend everything was normal. That everything was fine.

Taking his coat off the rack, he put that on too, both as a barrier to the cold and as an extra layer to hide himself in. He walked over to the door but paused before reaching for the doorknob. Was he ready? Would he be able to do this?

Did he really have a choice?

Klink opened the door and stepped out of the office. He tossed a distracted greeting in Fraulein Hilda’s direction before going out into the chill morning air. There was only one thing he knew for certain: he would soon find the answers to his questions. One way or the other.


	9. Looking at the Little Picture

Hogan yawned, feeling the affects of a mostly restless night, and watched without interest as Sergeant Schultz started to count the men. Schultz looked a bit nervous, but he needn’t have worried: there were no schemes in motion and no one was missing from the rolls. Hogan’s special brand of fast talk would not be needed to confound the guard this morning.

No, he wouldn’t need the fast talk until after Roll Call. During the night—putting his insomnia to good use—, he’d considered and came up with a number of contingency plans to use if he couldn’t get the ‘Iron Eagle’ to cough up the wallpaper. Unfortunately, they were a bit more complicated and a lot more risky than the one he’d originally decided on. He didn’t want to have to use one of them unless he absolutely had to.

So, after Roll Call, he would hit up Klink for the wallpaper and hope the Commandant hadn’t been lying the day before about agreeing to give him some today.

As if thinking of him had brought the man into existence, Hogan saw Klink leave the office building and start walking down the steps. Seeing him, a faint echo of what he’d listened in on last night rang in his ears, and he found himself studying the Commandant intently. He didn’t know what he expected to see or what he was looking for exactly as he stared—just because the man had played the whore didn’t mean he’d suddenly have an x on his forehead or something—but there was an undeniable urge to look anyway.

And since there was nothing pressing Hogan had to do at the moment, he saw no harm in doing just that. At first glance, there was nothing strange about Klink’s appearance except for a slight limp, which Hogan wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been paying such close attention. It wasn’t until Klink had come much closer that Hogan saw the weariness in his expression. And a strange wariness in his eyes.

Klink stopped well short of where Sergeant Schultz stood, as though the fat man had a disease the Commandant didn’t want to catch. Then, with an expression more suited to dealing with some kind of rabid animal than a subordinate, he glared at Schultz for close to half a minute before speaking. “Report.” His tone was as tense as his posture.

Schultz saluted, either not noticing his superior’s odd behavior or not caring. “All present and accounted for, Kommandant!” he boomed, his relief plain.

 _Is it my imagination,_ Hogan wondered as he watched Klink return the salute, _or did Klink just flinch?_ Seeing the way the Commandant had clenched his fist, he realized it hadn’t been his imagination. But why was Klink so jumpy?

“Good,” Klink said, still sounding tense even though the news was good. He leveled his gaze at the assembled men and seemed about to dismiss them as usual when he noticed Hogan’s scrutiny. Consternation and suspicion showed plainly on his face before the Commandant’s expression became blank. Or, tried to become blank—Klink wasn’t adept at hiding his emotions and the fear remained.

Fear? Hogan had seen Klink scared before and, while the Commandant was a coward, it usually took a bit more than a look from Hogan to make him afraid. Usually. But Hogan had seen him afraid before and he’d looked a lot like he did now. What did he have to be scared of? He had nothing to fear from Hogan … well, as far as Klink knew.

But there was no denying something had definitely scared him.

Klink stared back for a moment longer before shaking his head sharply and briefly closing his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention back to Schultz. “Dismissed!” When he turned and stalked away, his pace was steady and measured. The only things that gave him away were his hands: they were trembling.

Hogan continued to watch until Klink disappeared into the office building. Once he was gone, Hogan crossed his arms and let his eyes narrow as he thought. That certainly had been … interesting. He wondered what had the old ‘Iron Eagle’ on edge like that. The only thing he could think of recently which could have possibly disturbed the Commandant so much was that … incident with General Adler.

But why would Klink be acting like this if Adler was the cause? Hogan could understand, he thought, if Klink was nervous around the General—from what little he’d heard last night, things hadn’t sounded exactly … amicable—but Adler wasn’t at Roll! And even if Adler had been there, Klink’s behavior still wouldn’t make sense.

Klink was pretty much a glorified clerk now-a-days, but Hogan would have thought he should be able to take a slap or two in stride no matter whom they came from. Besides, Hogan hadn’t seen any bruises so Adler must not have even hit him that hard. But if it wasn’t that, then what was it?

_‘What the General’s doing … it’s a bit like rape, isn’t it?’_

Hogan’s frown deepened as he recalled Kinch’s words. What if it wasn’t being hit that had the Commandant so edgy? What if it was something more subtle than that? What if—

Hogan shook his head, feeling annoyed with himself. Why was he even worrying about this? He didn’t have time to psychoanalyze Klink! There was still that business with the wallpaper he had to take care of, and rather than wasting his time wondering about the Commandant’s mental state, he ought to be thinking of ways to get around Klink’s inevitable objections.

Because one thing was for certain: no matter what the Commandant had said yesterday, he clearly wasn’t going to be in the mood to discuss wallpaper. That had never stopped Hogan from trying before and wouldn’t stop him now—he just had to think of an angle to work from was all. Hogan had the feeling the Escape Committee threat would have worked yesterday if the Commandant hadn’t had other things on his mind. It would be worth trying again when he went to see him today.

If it didn’t, well, Hogan was always good at working off the cuff.

Decision made, he’d been about to head over to the office building when he saw he wasn’t the only one interested in seeing the Commandant. General Adler was striding in that direction now, a disturbingly self-satisfied smirk on his face. He certainly looked rested. What could he want now?

“Sir?”

Hogan turned towards the Sergeant. “What is it, Kinch?”

“What...?” Kinch hesitated, as if he didn’t want to ask what he was going to. “What happened with Klink last night?”

Uncrossing his arms, Hogan took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with the brim. “He did it.” He put his hat back on. “I didn’t listen very long, but I know he did it.”

Kinch, despite his dark color, managed to look a bit green. “I see.” He opened his mouth to say something else when their conversation was interrupted.

“What are you fellas talking about?”

Hogan spun around to see the eavesdropper, going over what he’d said, trying to think if any of it was incriminating. He should have known better than to talk out in the open like this!

And there stood Sergeant Carter, his blue eyes wide and his face lined with confusion. “What did Klink do?”

Great. Of all the people that could have heard this conversation, it had to be Carter. Carter wasn’t a bad soldier, and he was an excellent munitions man, but he kept secrets about as well as a leaky bucket held water. Unless he wanted news of Klink spread around Barracks 2 and beyond by noon, Hogan would need to nip this in the bud right now.

But first: “Kinch, I want you to man the coffee pot.” While Hogan doubted anything useful would be gleaned now, he did not want to take the risk of missing something vital. At Kinch’s unhappy look, he sighed. “I’m sorry, but it has to be you. I want to keep this between us for now.”

Kinch still didn’t seem happy and, considering what he’d been privy to yesterday, Hogan didn’t blame him. However, Kinch was too much of a professional to argue about it once he’d already made his thoughts clear. “Yes, Colonel.”

When he was gone, Hogan smiled a bit and gestured for Carter to come closer. “Listen, Carter,” he said once the Sergeant had done so, “the Commandant just got himself into a little mess.” Hogan stared at Carter meaningfully. “It’s nothing big, but I’d like to keep it quiet for a while, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go spreading this around.”

Carter frowned. “But Klink’s got himself into trouble before, and you never kept it a secret.”

Hogan opened his mouth to answer the unasked question before he realized he didn’t have an answer. Why was he keeping this a secret? It had seemed like a natural decision at the time but now he wasn’t quite so certain. Had he kept it hushed up for Klink’s sake? That was quite the thing to do for someone who wasn’t even a friend...

Looking at Carter’s open and mostly innocent face, Hogan decided his reasons for doing it didn’t matter right now. What did matter was that he didn’t want to explain to his subordinate that Klink had whored himself out to Adler to protect his hide. Ugliness was a fact of life when you were a soldier and saboteur—there was no need to add extra ugliness to it if you didn’t have to.

What was the old saying? Ignorance is fleeting; knowledge lasts forever. There were some things you didn’t need to ever know.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m keeping it a secret,” Hogan said at last, keeping his tone firm and commanding. “All that matters is that I’m ordering you to keep this to yourself.”

“But, sir—”

“That’s an order, Sergeant!”

Carter snapped a salute. “Yessir!” Then he frowned again, crossing his arms and coming dangerously close to sulking. “Jeeze, no one ever tells me anything!”

Hogan patted him on the shoulder and steered him back to the Barracks. “Now, is that any way to talk to your commanding officer when he’s about to let you give him that guided tour of your new chem lab?” Carter had been trying to convince Hogan to take a look at the new lab for close to a month now, and Hogan had been very reluctant to do so—mainly due to what had happened to the _last_ lab.

But Hogan wanted to get Carter out of this funk and his mind off of what he’d heard. This was the exact right way to do it.

Carter’s eyes lit up like one of his fuses, and he smiled widely. “You mean it, sir?” Not giving Hogan a chance to change his mind, he quickly continued. “Well, you won’t regret it, boy, I mean, Colonel.”

As Carter rambled on about the interesting and highly volatile things he wanted to show him, Hogan only listened with half an ear. He was not looking forward to visiting that death trap Carter called a lab, but, now that he’d committed himself, he had no choice in the matter.

 _On the bright side,_ he thought as Carter led him to down to the tunnel, _at least I’ll be able to get this Klink business off my mind for a while._

He’d be too busy worrying about explosions and cave-ins to worry about anything else.


	10. Uncomfortably Feeling

His hands were still shaking. Klink shut the office door behind him and leaned against it, feeling drained. For a while, it had seemed, in spite of the stress he’d felt, Roll Call wasn’t going to go as badly as he’d feared. Even though he’d imagined he could feel the prisoner’s eyes on him, he hadn’t noticed anyone actually paying him any undue attention—no one except for Colonel Hogan.

He frowned, recalling all too clearly the way he’d reacted when he’d realized the American had been watching him. Alarmed was not quite a strong enough word. Hogan wasn’t a man Klink felt he could trust at the best of times—it was always difficult for him to guess what was going through the Senior POW’s mind, if he could manage it at all—and this was not the best of times in any sense of the phrase. 

To put it simply, Hogan was an enigma: one Klink had tried and failed to puzzle out on many occasions. Despite his smiles and easy-going personality, it seemed as though there was a layer under that—maybe several. There was something dangerous about him and being the center of his attention made Klink distinctly uneasy. Something about that gaze—

He rubbed his face, frustrated with himself. Afraid of his staff, afraid of the prisoners, afraid of General Adler—what was next, his own shadow? Adler was the only one he should be afraid of, had a reason to be afraid of, and he couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt so suspicious of everyone else.

Before Adler had come along, he’d never seen any sign of any man wanting what Adler had wanted from him. Had taken from him. He’d never given the idea any thought at all—never had to. But now? Now, it was as though he was surrounded by deviants; he was seeing that certain suspicious look everywhere.

Klink knew, even as the fear overtook him those times when he imagined being leered at, it _was_ just his imagination. No one was sizing him up the way Adler had. But it didn’t seem to matter how many times he told himself he was being foolish and paranoid; he simply could not make himself believe it.

After hanging up his hat and coat, he looked around the office. It was difficult to be here: there were too many disturbing (and vivid) memories far too close to the surface. If he had his druthers, he didn’t think he’d ever set foot in this place again.

Unfortunately, that was not his choice to make. He couldn’t keep hiding in his quarters no matter how much he wanted to. He had responsibilities to fulfill. He had a job to do, and he planned on doing it—after what he’d given up to protect himself from the Gestapo, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble with Berlin over something like missing paperwork.

 _And maybe,_ he thought as he went to sit behind his desk, _I’ll be able to get my mind off of … things for a while._ That would be nice, but staring at the papers in front of him, he didn’t think it would be likely. Never mind that just being in this room was making him feel ill, he doubted the paperwork would be interesting enough to provide much of a distraction, if he managed to focus on it at all.

A knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts, and he jerked at the unexpected sound. He shook his head in disgust—scared of noises now? He was truly pathetic. He felt even more pathetic when the door opened to reveal Fraulein Hilda. Afraid of his secretary? Now his day was complete!

He was so involved with his self-loathing it took him several seconds to realize she’d said something that gave him every right to be afraid. “What did you say?” he asked, hoping he’d heard her wrong.

He hadn’t. “General Adler is here to see you, Kommandant.”

It took him a moment to remember how to breathe again. Klink had known he’d have to deal with Adler sooner or later (the way the man had talked the night before about ‘next time’ left no doubt in his mind), but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon! He wasn’t ready for this, facing him now—facing him ever—but he knew just as certainly he didn’t have the option of turning the General away until he was.

Oh, he could try, and it might work for a short while. However, he had no doubts he’d end up paying for it later. Adler would see to _that_. And there was no doubt in his mind the General would enjoy making him pay.

Klink shuddered at the thought before turning his attention back to Fraulein Hilda. “Show him in,” he managed at last, pleased he didn’t sound as close to panic as he was.

Although, if the sudden look of concern on his secretary’s face was any indication, he probably hadn’t been able to hide his feelings as well as he’d believed. “Yes, sir.”

Too quickly, Adler replaced her in the doorway. Once he shut the door and locked it behind him, he turned and stared for several moments. Then he fixed Klink with a disapproving frown. “Well, aren’t you going to salute me, Colonel?”

For an instant, Klink entertained the hope that maybe the General had come to discuss something which didn’t involve what had happened the night before—that Adler had called him by rank rather than by name lent some credence to the idea—then he noticed the undisguised glee in the General’s eyes and realized this was just another game. Just another opportunity for Adler to humiliate him.

Klink was frankly surprised at the burst of anger that surged through him at the realization. He would have thought he’d been through enough humiliations that one more would hardly make a difference. Unfortunately, as mad as he felt, he knew he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. What Adler might do if Klink gave into his feelings wasn’t something he wanted to imagine.

 _Besides,_ he thought with more than a little self-contempt, _what’s the point of trying to fight back_ this _late in the game?_

Slowly, stiffly, he stood at attention and saluted, waiting impatiently for the salute to be returned so the General could do whatever he’d come here to do. The only comfort Klink had was that Adler wouldn’t be able to repeat what he’d done last night now—at least, he hoped the man would have enough sense not to try when there was a greater risk of being caught.

However, rather than returning the salute right away, the General only smiled beatifically. “That’s more like it, Colonel.” Then he put his hands behind his back and started a slow circuit around the office, much like he had the day before but without the urgency. He didn’t appear to be looking for anything specific; he was just wandering around.

 _Probably just wants to make me wait,_ Klink decided. Honestly, he didn’t completely mind; he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what this meeting was going to be about—not that it was terribly hard to guess.

Finally, Adler sat, looking cheerful and satisfied. “Sit, sit, Colonel. There’s no need for all this formality,” he said, apparently forgetting he was the one who’d demanded a salute in the first place. “I want you to be comfortable.”

There was a part of Klink that was very annoyed at not receiving a return salute—even a quick, non-heartfelt one (such as he usually received from General Burkhalter) would have sufficed. Another part of him wondered why on Earth he cared about something as petty as Military protocol at a time like this. Most of him, however, was busy trying not to laugh incredulously at the lie. As though Adler cared anything about his comfort!

Noticing Adler’s growing impatience, Klink sat down gingerly and waited for the man to speak.

Adler settled back into the chair and laced his hands together. “I have some good news for you, Colonel.”

Klink’s hopes soared, and he interrupted the General before he could stop himself. “You’re leaving?”

Adler frowned with real irritation and mock hurt. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company.” His expression became crueler. “At least, you seemed to be enjoying it last night.”

The blood flowed out of Klink’s face, and his hands dug into each other on his lap. He hadn’t needed the reminder. He’d never managed to forget in the first place. No matter how hard he’d tried.

“I won’t be leaving quite yet,” Adler continued, his tone bland. “No, I’ve better news for you: I’ve finished my inspection of Stalag 13, and you’ve passed with high marks.” When Klink made no answer, he pressed with an edge to his tone. “Aren’t you pleased?”

It was amazing how little Klink cared about this. Within less than twenty-four hours, his life had been flipped around, and he’d learned things about himself he’d never cared to know—in comparison to what had happened, whether or not his camp got high marks from a perverted slug hardly mattered anymore. Was Adler really this stupid?

Klink’s hands held on a bit tighter. Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t; all that really mattered was he wouldn’t be happy with any answer other than ‘yes.’ All that mattered was getting this little meeting over with, and playing along with these games would make that happen more quickly. _Just give him what he wants._

“Very.”

Smirking, Adler leaned forward. “When I write my report to Berlin, I’ll be sure to make a mention about your quality service.” He paused, then elaborated. “Get it, Colonel? Service?” His laughter was a rough, crass thing.

Oh, Klink got it. His hands hurt from the pressure he was applying, but he didn’t let go. He held on tighter. The pain helped distract him from the humiliated rage and revulsion he felt—though he wasn’t sure at whom most of it was directed: Adler for joking about what he’d taken or himself because the words were on target. The pain also reminded him he was not strong enough to fight Adler no matter how angry he was.

And he was angry. Possibly more angry than he’d ever been in his life. Klink had never been a particularly violent man, but at that moment, if he’d been strong enough, he would have been more than willing to permanently wipe that smug smirk off of the swine’s face. He could just see it in his mind—his imagination usually wasn’t very good but he could see it plain as though it were in front of him. Bloody knuckles connecting again and again with a face almost too distorted by injury to recognize as Adler’s. He almost smiled—

—his rage froze in his veins, and for a moment, he was more terrified of what his imagination had conjured up (and his reaction to it) than he was of General Adler. Since when did his mind work this way? While Adler was no doubt deserving of death, Klink didn’t have the stomach for such brutality. At least, he hadn’t thought he’d enjoy the idea of beating a man to death with his bare hands so much.

Maybe this was just another disturbing facet of his personality that he hadn’t realized he’d had. After all, he was a deranged pervert who enjoyed pain; why not a violent brute too? In any case, it certainly seemed as though he was learning a lot about himself lately—what a shame none of it was anything to be proud of.

“I said, ‘Get it’.”

Klink was getting tired of these games. No, he was tired of these games. Very tired. “I get it,” he bit out once he had enough control to make sure those were the only words he said. Then he took a chance and decided to try getting to the point of this farce. “Why are you here, General?”

“So impatient, Colonel!” Adler chided with only a hint of menace. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.” He unclasped his hands and set them on his knees. “To answer your question, I came to tell you that I will be coming in a little earlier tonight—2230 or so—so make sure you aren’t late.” Then he tilted his head and stared at Klink with mock severity. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Colonel.”

Yes, Klink was tired of these games. When was this going to end? “Whatever you want, General.”

Adler grinned. “Good, Good! You’re learning. ‘Whatever I want’ is right.” His smile became sly, and he made a come-hither gesture with his fingers. “Come here, Colonel.”

Why had he been in such a hurry to end this meeting again? He should have known Adler wouldn’t be satisfied with humiliating him with words. Not that it would have mattered if he’d realized this fact before or not … the General would be doing what he wanted regardless.

And reminding himself Adler couldn’t do much beyond touch him didn’t make Klink feel all that much better.

Once Klink had come to stand as far away from Adler as he could and still be considered ‘next to him’, the General closed the space between them and put his hands on Klink’s shoulders. The smile on his face told Klink his flinch hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Now then, Colonel,” he said, bringing his face within inches of Klink’s own, “give me a kiss.” 

For a second, Klink stood stock still and wondered if he’d heard what he thought he’d heard. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Adler said, sounding amused. “I’m sure you can manage that.”

Klink stared for a long moment, trying to see if there was any hint the General was playing with him. It didn’t take long to see there wasn’t one. Still, he couldn’t believe what was being demanded of him now. “You can’t be serious, General.”

Adler chuckled. “Oh, I’m very serious, Colonel.” His grip on Klink’s shoulders tightened significantly. “And if you keep me waiting much longer,” he whispered, his smile a thin, twisted line, “you’ll find out just how serious I am.”

A shudder rippled through Klink, and he swallowed hard. Dear God, he didn’t want to do this! He couldn’t do this—he wouldn’t do this. It was one thing to have that, that man kiss him; it was another entirely to be the one doing the kissing. Klink refused to be the initiator of any of this!

A pained gasp escaped him as Adler’s grip on his shoulders became excruciatingly tight. “I’m waiting, Colonel,” he said pleasantly, as though he wasn’t burying his thumbs ever deeper into Klink’s collar bones. “I can do this all day—can you?”

Closing his eyes, Klink took a deep breath and tried not to cry out as Adler’s grip tightened even further. _It’s just a kiss,_ a part of him was saying. It wasn’t like it would mean anything! Why bother trying to fight this when he hadn’t fought before over something much bigger? Was giving this beast a kiss really worse than being sodomized? _Just give him what he wants!_

But before he could do that... “P-please, General! Stop, I’ll do it!”

Adler paused his assault. “What will you do?”

Klink was panting and he could feel tears pricking at his eyes (whether from the pain or from the humiliation, he didn’t know). “I’ll—I’ll kiss you.”

Abruptly, Adler released his hold, making Klink feel dizzy and sick. “I’m so glad you decided to see it my way.”

Before he had a chance to change his mind or lose his nerve, Klink pursed his lips and quickly leaned forward. In his haste, he missed Adler’s mouth, but he didn’t care. As soon as his lips touched Adler’s cheek, he pulled away, feeling ill. It probably wasn’t what the General had wanted, but Klink decided he would probably want being vomited on less.

For a long moment, Adler seemed nonplussed and stared at Klink with a bemused expression on his face. Then he laughed and slapped Klink on the back in what might have passed as a friendly way if he hadn’t used so much force. “Not too bad for a first try!” He grinned and pulled Klink close. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to work on it tonight.”

Not something Klink was looking forward to in the least. Just when he’d thought this whole mess couldn’t get any worse—he had to learn to stop thinking that!

Adler’s kiss was lingering, and when he pulled back, he ran his finger’s down Klink’s cheek. “Until tonight, Colonel.”

It was amazing how three little words could bring so much despair! Once the General was gone, Klink wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to stop shaking. He wondered if this part would get any better—if he’d always feel this way after meeting with Adler. So worthless and dirty. Adler hadn’t done very much, but Klink still wanted to jump in the shower and scrub. It had only been a day, and already he knew he couldn’t live this way. If nothing else, he’d run out of soap.

He managed a half-smile at the half-joke, but it faded quickly. This wasn’t the time, and there were serious questions he had to ask. What would he do now? Did he keep playing these games with Adler and pray the man would tire of him sooner or later? Should he try running away? Did he just take his chances not playing and possibly end up with the Gestapo?

Klink still didn’t want to die, but at least with the Gestapo, he’d know where he stood. And he’d know it would end eventually.

Shaking his head, he sat down in the empty chair. No, he couldn’t think that way. Remaining positive was impossible, but he didn’t want to completely give into despair either. It wouldn’t do him any good unless he decided he wanted to die after all. And he didn’t want to—not only because living was better than being dead (even in the situation he’d found himself in), but he suspected Adler would be just as happy either way, and Klink did not want to give him that satisfaction.

He laughed bitterly. Of course, Adler seemed to be having no problems getting satisfaction no matter what Klink did. He seemed to enjoy himself about as much when Klink followed directions as when he didn’t. What could Klink do to deny someone like that?

Should he even try? What was the point now?

“Sir?”

Klink turned around so quickly he almost fell out of the chair. “What!” he snapped, irritated that his thoughts had been interrupted, that someone had barged into his office, and that his heart was thudding with terror.

Fraulein Hilda drew back, startled. “C-colonel Hogan is here to see you.”

Colonel Hogan. And what did _he_ want? Oh, yes—wallpaper. How such a smart man could worry about something so trivial—and work so hard for it!—was beyond him. Klink could just imagine it now: Hogan striding in here as though he owned the place, demanding wallpaper, and threatening him with that ‘Escape Committee’ of his—as though they could escape! No one escaped from Stalag 13.

 _Not even me,_ he thought with gallows humor. Then he frowned, thinking. _Escape Committee..._ A real smile slowly formed on his face as a plan formed in his mind. Yes, it could work. It would work. Maybe it would just prolong the wait for the inevitable, but at this point, any delay suited Klink just fine.

“Of course, send him in.” As Fraulein Hilda left to do so, Klink uncrossed his arms and tried to quell his nervousness. He had a plan now, true. But whether it succeeded or failed would all depend on Colonel Hogan.


	11. Mission Impractical

If Hogan hadn’t been completely, one hundred percent, certain of his subordinate’s loyalty, he would have thought Sergeant Carter had been trying to kill him. No explosions but far too many near misses—he could feel his hair turning gray from all the scares he’d had. Never mind that through it all, Carter had worn the same idiotically happy grin on his face...

He was so grateful to be topside again in one piece he almost kissed the floorboards. He didn’t because he was the senior officer, and he had to maintain a certain image. Also, it didn’t appear the man charge of keeping the floor clean was doing all that great a job. He’d have to make a note of that.

“So, what did you think, sir?”

Hogan stared at the Sergeant for a long moment before smiling a bit. “I’m glad you’re on our side.” Then he brushed the dust off his pants (from hitting the dirt during one of those ‘near misses’ he’d had in the tunnel) and asked Carter if he had something to work on now.

Carter looked almost confused. “Yessir, I still have to work on the bombs for the next mission, remember?” He rubbed his chin. “I could’a sworn I told you about that during the tour...”

“Of course, of course, I remember now” Hogan said hastily to cover his lack of attentiveness. Although, who could blame him for not listening to words when death kept jumping out at him? “Maybe you should finish that up while I get the necessary supplies.”

“Aye, sir,” the Sergeant saluted and left, presumably, to get the bombs ready.

Hogan allowed himself a sigh of relief. At least _that_ was over with. Unfortunately, now that the tour was over, he had work to do, namely, getting wallpaper out of Klink. The only question was did he ask Kinch what Adler and Klink had talked about or did he go and just play it by ear? Odds were whatever they’d discussed wouldn’t make much of a difference in the game plan, and if something important had happened, Kinch would have let him know.

Leaving Barracks 2 and heading towards the office building, Hogan was honest enough to admit that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t go and see Kinch. He was tired of the nagging feeling of guilt he had whenever he thought too much about Klink and his circumstances and seeing Kinch, remembering his words from yesterday, would only make the feeling worse. It wasn’t something Hogan was exactly proud of, running away like this, but there just wasn’t time to worry about Klink and what he should have done.

Besides, now that Adler had gotten what he’d wanted … well, it was over, wasn’t it? Soon things would be back to normal. Maybe they were normal already, and Hogan was just doing too much brooding to see it. Maybe that look of terror he’d seen on the Commandant’s face had only been his imagination after all.

 _And maybe,_ a snarky voice remarked coolly, _you’re just in denial._

Hogan shook his head and did his best to ignore the taunt. He didn’t have time to talk to himself right now.

He flashed a smiled at Klink’s lovely secretary. “Good morning, Hilda—you look very...” His greeting trailed off as he noted her strained and worried expression. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Hilda said resolutely before her resolve weakened. “Well, maybe—I don’t know.”

“Sounds serious,” Hogan said, keeping his tone light in an effort to bring a smile to her face.

She frowned at him. “Colonel, if you are not going to take this seriously—”

Raising his hands in surrender, Hogan did his best to look contrite. “No, I’m listening.”

Still frowning, Hilda sniffed a bit before her obvious ire faded. Then she looked around the office as if afraid that someone might be listening. When she was satisfied, she leaned forward on the desk, incidentally giving Hogan a very good view of her cleavage, and whispered: “I think there’s something wrong with the Kommandant.”

“Really?” Hogan asked, all thoughts of Hilda’s cleavage leaving his mind. So, maybe it hadn’t been his imagination. Then again, Hilda could just be overreacting. “What makes you say that?”

She looked around again. “I came in early this morning, and I wanted something to do, so I went into the Colonel’s office, and do you know what I found?”

Hogan shook his head.

“It was a disaster in there. Papers all over the place, and it smelled like someone was sick.” Hilda bit her lip and looked around a third time. “I went out, and I asked Corporal Langenscheidt to come see if the Kommandant was all right.”

“Was he?” Hogan asked, already knowing the answer to this question but wanting to hear some conformation.

“I thought he was at first; he only looked a little tired, but he seemed all right. But then he just stared into space and acted like he forgot we were there.” Shrugging slightly, she continued. “I thought maybe he was just tired, but then he screamed at Langenscheidt just for standing there.” She stared up at Hogan, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen him act that way before.”

Hogan smiled but didn’t feel it. “I’m sure he just got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, that’s all.”

Hilda seemed uncertain but willing to be convinced. “He did say he felt ill last night.”

“Well, there you are! It sounds simple enough to me,” Hogan said, to calm the secretary’s worries not because he believed it. This whole thing was sounding more complicated all the time! Even as he told himself that he and Hilda were making a big deal out of nothing, Kinch’s warning ran through his mind again, and he spoke the words quietly: “He might not be the same.”

“What was that?”

Realizing he hadn’t spoken quite quietly enough, Hogan shook his head and gave a reassuring smile to the confused girl. “Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.” Both to get her mind off of his remark and to do what he’d come in here to do in the first place, he changed the subject. “Could you tell the Commandant I want to see him?”

The distraction worked. “Are you sure you want to?” Some of her worry remained but her expression had shifted to something Hogan was much more used to dealing with when he was with her. She stood and walked around the desk, coming close to where he stood, before laying her hand on his arm in a suggestive manner. “Wouldn’t you rather spend some more time with me?”

“Yes,” Hogan replied truthfully. What man wouldn’t rather spend quality time with a woman than get to work? Unfortunately for him and fortunately for the men he commanded, Hogan was not the sort to put pleasure before business. Of course, he was allowed a weak moment every now and then. But that moment wasn’t now. “But if I take you up on that offer, I could be here all day.”

“You say that as though it would be a bad thing,” Hilda mock pouted as she gave his arm a squeeze. Then she sighed, pulling her hand away. “Very well, Colonel. I suppose I can wait.” She turned and walked to the office door before turning back long enough to give him a wicked smile. “For now.”

Primly, she knocked on the door before opening it slightly to poke her head inside. “Kommandant?” A short pause. Then, a little louder: “Sir?”

“What!” Hogan heard Klink shout at last, sounding very annoyed for some reason.

Hilda backed up and stuttered that Hogan wanted to see him.

Another pause. “Of course,” Klink’s voice, now much more cordial, “send him in.”

She stepped out of the doorway and looked at Hogan, looking worried all over again. “He will see you now, Colonel.”

Hogan offered her a quick smile and patted her arm. “Don’t worry; I’ll sort him out.”

She half-smiled back. “All right.” Then she went back to her desk.

As soon as Hogan stepped through the door, he saw the Commandant wasn’t in his usual spot behind the desk. Instead, he’d been sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, but he stood almost immediately, a wide but nervous smile on his face. “Ah, Colonel Hogan. What a pleasant surprise.” He paused and swallowed. “Please shut the door.”

Hogan quirked an eyebrow as he casually kicked the door closed. There were only two reasons Klink ever acted happy to see him: if he had some news he wanted to rub in Hogan’s face or if he wanted something. Seeing as he lacked the confidence that usually came with believing he had the upper hand, odds were he probably wanted something. But what?

“Sit down, sit down,” Klink said quickly, moving away from the chair he’d gotten out of. “How about a drink?”

Yes, he definitely wanted something, and Hogan wasn’t in the mood to wait all day for the man to get to the point. But before he had a chance to decline, Klink had already made his way over to where he kept his liquor and was in the process of opening the bottle. That was fast! He narrowed his eyes, taking in Klink’s jerky movements and total absorption in his task. What was going on here?

Hogan had been about to sit down and wait when he noticed how much trouble the Commandant was having trying to fill the glass. His hands were shaking so badly it was only a matter of time before he spilt it everywhere. As if it wouldn’t take Klink long enough to get around to saying what he wanted as it was!

He started walking towards Klink, feeling annoyed. “Why don’t you let me take care of that, sir?”

Klink’s reaction wasn’t quite what Hogan was expecting. He hastily dropped the bottle and the glass onto the desk and backed away until he hit the wall. Then he just stood there, looking as though he was on the verge of panic.

Frowning, Hogan picked up the bottle and the glass, trying to ignore the way the Commandant was watching his every move. He filled the glass and held it out to him, noticing as he did so that Klink shied away from his outstretched hand. “I think you need this more than me.”

Fear and gratitude held an uneasy truce on the Commandant’s face as he gingerly took the offered glass. “You’re probably right.” Then he regarded Hogan warily, as though he was some kind of wild animal that might turn on him given the chance. “W-would you mind sitting back down?”

“Not at all,” he said calmly as his mind raced. What was going on here? Just when he’d about convinced himself he’d been imagining things at Roll Call even _with_ Hilda’s story! There was no denying it now, though. For whatever reason, Klink was terrified of him, and Hogan could not imagine why.

Sure, Hogan had threatened him before—hinting about the Russian front or possible troubles with the Gestapo—but never to the extent where the Commandant should be afraid Hogan _himself_ poised any real danger to him. And he’d certainly never threatened the man physically, so why was Klink cowering like Hogan was going to hit him?

By the time Hogan had taken his seat, the glass was already empty and Klink looked calmer, but Hogan decided it was probably due to the distance between them than the contents of the glass.

“Now, Colonel,” Klink began, sitting behind the desk and sounding as though he’d regained some of his composure, “I’ve been thinking about your request for the wallpaper, and I’ve decided that you can have it.”

Finally, a little good news. “That’s very generous of you, Commandant—you might just have a heart yet.”

Klink opened his mouth, looking almost as though he’d taken what Hogan had said personally, before shaking his head. “Yes, well, you can have it, but I’d like you to do something for me … a favor.” 

“A favor?” Why did that sound ominous?

Nodding, Klink paused and seemed to collect his thoughts. “I need a … a demonstration.” He hesitated for a moment, frowning, before his expression brightened. “I want you to stage an escape so I can show General Adler how we handle them here at Stalag 13.”

It wasn’t often Hogan was caught completely by surprise. It was even less often Klink was the one who managed to surprise him. But here he was, completely flatfooted at the craziness coming out of Klink’s mouth. It took him several seconds to come up with any kind of response. “You want me to stage an escape,” Hogan repeated slowly, giving Klink the chance to tell him that he’d heard him wrong, “to show General Adler...”

“How we do things at Stalag 13—it’d be good for the men too,” Klink nodded and waggled a finger. “They’re getting a bit lazy.”

Now that the shock had worn off, and Hogan was able to consider everything, he realized he knew only one thing for certain, and that was Klink wasn’t telling the truth. About the only good thing about this was the Commandant wasn’t trying to insult his intelligence—Hogan would have been distrustful in any case, but he might have entertained the idea Klink was on the level if it hadn’t been painfully obvious he’d made this little scenario up on the spot.

So, what _was_ Klink’s angle? A sneaking suspicion wandered into Hogan’s mind, and he suddenly felt angry. He didn’t know why he felt angry—it wasn’t as though this would be the first time Klink had tried to pull something like this (the incident with the bugs in the barracks leapt to mind)—but he couldn’t deny he was.

“Right, and then you turn me over to the Gestapo,” Hogan said hotly, letting his disgust show. And to think, he’d come close to actually feeling sorry for this two-faced, back-stabbing weasel! “I’m sure a nice recording of this conversation would have gotten you in good with the General, but I’m not going to play!”

As Klink stuttered his denials, Hogan’s ire faded as he noticed the Commandant’s expression. He looked surprised. Not guilty or annoyed, like he would have been had Hogan actually sussed out the reason for his bizarre request, but genuinely taken aback. As though the thought of trapping Hogan had never crossed his mind.

And maybe it hadn’t. But then what did he want? “Commandant,” he interrupted abruptly, deciding it was time to get to the bottom of this even if it meant being less than subtle, “I don’t know if I can even do what you’re asking me to, but the only way I’ll even consider it is if you tell me what’s going on.”

For a long moment, Klink only stared, his eyes narrow and his mouth a tight line. Then he slumped, like a puppet with cut strings, and bowed his head. “I can’t—” He closed his eyes, looking defeated. “I can’t go into any details. All I can say is that I have a meeting with General Adler tonight that I … that I would rather miss.”

“Another one?” Hogan blurted out, aghast. Just when he’d thought this mess was over with! He wanted to kick himself for not going to see Kinch before coming here—maybe then he’d have known about this development.

The Commandant’s eyes snapped open, and his mouth worked unsuccessfully for several seconds before he actually formed words. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice low and tense. He stood up, shaking but with fear or anger, Hogan couldn’t tell. “Wh-what do you know about it!”

Hogan raised his hands and thought quickly. “Nothing, nothing. You just mentioned having a meeting with him yesterday, that’s all.” He hoped Klink bought this because he wasn’t interested in trying to explain his knowledge otherwise. Clearly, he’d have to be more careful with what he said, especially with the Commandant on edge like this.

Frowning, Klink’s hand strayed to his mouth. “I did?” He half-shook his head. “I don’t remember—” he interrupted himself with a sigh as he slowly sat back down. “I suppose I must have.” He frowned a bit more before turning his attention back to Hogan, his expression hopeful and pleading. “So, will you help me?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Unless Klink had suddenly become a consummate actor, it was likely all the Commandant wanted out of this scheme was to avoid Adler. Hogan hadn’t spent much time with Adler, but considering what he’d heard last night, he supposed he couldn’t blame Klink for not wanting to … meet with him again. And if Klink kept his word and Hogan was able to pull this little stunt off, he’d have his wallpaper and the mission could go as planned.

Of course, there were several cons to helping the Commandant. The first was how to convince the men to go along with it. They’d want more than ‘Klink’s giving us wallpaper in exchange for a diversion’, and they would be right to want it. Also, did Hogan really want to give Klink proof he actually _could_ escape if he wanted to? The Commandant might not have his mind on entrapment now, but that could easily change later.

Hogan considered all these things, but he was truly torn over only two points. A part of him said that he shouldn’t get involved in this Adler mess, that Klink had made his choice already and that he deserved whatever happened to him now. But there was a part of him that felt almost guilty about all the things he’d thought about the man since he’d first heard of the General’s blackmail; a part that didn’t want to turn Klink away now that he was actually asking for his help.

He couldn’t help but feel both parts of him were raising good points, and until he could figure out where he stood, he didn’t think he should promise anything. However, seeing the hope on Klink’s face, he couldn’t quite bring himself to snuff it out. “What time?”

“2230. Around 2230,” Klink smiled, gratefully. “Tha—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hogan said, giving the Commandant a hard look. “I can’t promise anything.” Then, more gently: “But I’ll see what I can do.”

Klink seemed slightly disappointed, but he nodded. “I understand, Colonel.” He frowned. “How will I know—?”

“If you hear a ruckus around 2230,” Hogan said with a lightness he didn’t really feel as he stood, “then it’s probably us.” He offered a salute, and it was returned a half second later.

Hogan left, giving a distracted greeting and farewell to Hilda as he passed, his mind already working on the current problem he had on his hands. The ball was now in his court, and now it was his turn to make a choice. He just hoped, walking back to the barracks, he would make the right one.


	12. Hanging By a Thread

While Colonel Hogan had made no promises to do as he’d been asked, Klink had still felt cautiously optimistic about the whole plan. Sure, he had no guarantees, but he finally had something he’d thought he’d never have again: hope. For the first time since General Adler had blackmailed him, he’d felt light, as though a terrible weight had been eased off his shoulders. For the first time since last night, he’d almost felt like himself again.

For hours, not counting a few uncomfortable moments when he got his meals, he’d felt almost normal.

Unfortunately, like all good things, the feeling couldn’t and didn’t last.

1900 found him sitting on the couch, furiously polishing his monocle and resisting the urge to send for Colonel Hogan so he could find out what the American had decided to do. If there was one thing Klink despised, it was uncertainty, and with everything that was going on, he’d had just about as much uncertainty as he could stand.

He was grateful for the hope he’d been given, of course he was, but he hated not knowing what was going to happen or what he ought to be doing. Should he be clearing off his desk so nothing else got broken when last night repeated itself? Should he practice looking worried and surprised about the escape attempt when it happened? He had no idea, and he was tired of just waiting for things to happen.

Regretfully, the waiting was inevitable, and what he did know for certain was he wasn’t ready to face Adler again. Well, that wasn’t quite correct. It wasn’t the facing that was the problem; it was the being used part he wasn’t ready for. This morning, Adler hadn’t been able to do much more than kiss him, but tonight, with the lessened risk of being caught, he’d be able to do more, and Klink was not ready to go through _that_ again.

For one thing, he still hurt from the night before. That was the reason he was sitting on the couch, polishing his monocle out of existence, rather than using that nervous energy to pace as he was wont to. He’d tried pacing, and it’d taken less than ten minutes before the slight limp he’d managed to ignore became something more noticeable and more painful. If this was what happened when Adler was making an effort to be ‘gentle’, Klink had no desire to know what he’d feel like if the General didn’t take such ‘care.’

He also wasn’t looking forward to this new game Adler wanted to play. Klink had gotten away with a kiss on the cheek this morning, but he doubted Adler would let him off so easily tonight. Just when he’d thought his situation couldn’t get any more disgusting! It had been bad enough to endure that swine’s advances but to actually become active in this, well, how far was the General planning on taking this pretense? The last thing Klink wanted to do was pretend he wanted what was being forced on him!

Although, considering how he’d reacted, how he’d enjoyed it and everything, shouldn’t he want it? Most people liked doing things they enjoyed; shouldn’t he?

He stopped his polishing and stared down at his motionless hands. That was the other reason he wasn’t ready for tonight’s meeting with Adler. He didn’t want to believe he was the sort of person he seemed to be shaping up to be: the sort of person who enjoyed doing unnatural things with people he found abhorrent—not to mention his sudden bouts of temper. He really didn’t want to believe he was this strange, sick person, and that he’d never seen it until now. But how could he argue with the facts? How could he argue he hadn’t enjoyed it when he’d lost control like he had?

And it’d be even harder to make that argument if it happened again tonight.

Klink rubbed his face and wasn’t quite as surprised as he’d have liked to have been when his hand came away wet. Crying again. He was equal parts embarrassed and annoyed: embarrassed to be carrying on this way and annoyed at his lack of control. At least it hadn’t happened in front of anyone else. Although, if this kept happening, it’d only be a matter of time before someone caught him.

Now there was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having.

After wiping his eyes and replacing his monocle, he glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 2000. There was a little more than two and a half hours now until whatever happened happened, and Klink didn’t want to spend all that time sitting here, thinking. It’d be one thing if his thoughts ever led anywhere useful, but they didn’t. They just went around in disheartening circles, without resolution, without end, and he was so tired of it.

If only he could stop thinking for a while...

A couple ideas came to mind, but they involved incapacitating himself, and he knew, as badly as he wanted to stop thinking, that wasn’t such a good idea. He was in enough trouble without creating more for himself. And it wasn’t that he was only worried about Adler’s reaction (Klink doubted the beast would have nearly as much fun if he wasn’t aware of what was going on)—he had a job to do here. He had responsibilities! At any moment, General Burkhalter might just decide to visit or the Gestapo might come to camp; being incapacitated around them was a good way to go right to the Russian Front.

He wasn’t quite that desperate to get out of Adler’s clutches!

A dark voice in the back of his mind whispered: _At least, you’re not yet._

Klink stood too quickly and winced. He had to remember to be more careful until the soreness went away. Of course, when that would be was anyone’s guess what with Adler and his ‘next times.’ He just prayed being sore would be the worst of it, because there was no way to safely seek a doctor’s help if he _did_ get a serious injury: he’d never be able to explain what had happened without implicating himself and being arrested was one of the things he’d been trying to avoid. 

So, he had to do his best to make sure it wouldn’t come to that. Just stay on Adler’s good side, if such a beast existed, and hope Adler remembered his promise not to hurt him. Although, considering how easily he’d changed the rules of the deal, Klink wasn’t even sure he could expect that much.

Carefully, he made his way to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous helping of Schnapps. While the amount in the glass was more than he usually liked to drink at once, he decided there was little harm in the over indulgence. It was early enough that this small amount of alcohol would no longer be affecting him by 2230, and it would help with the pain he was feeling.

Within seconds, the glass was empty, and he set it down with a measure of reluctance. Even though he knew it would be about the most foolish thing he could think of doing, he couldn’t deny there was a temptation to refill the glass. More than once. It was early enough that, if he started now, he could drink himself into a stupor if he wanted to.

But he really didn’t want to. Not only because he didn’t want to be defenseless, but it would make things very awkward if Colonel Hogan actually did come through with that escape attempt. It wouldn’t be a good example for the men to have their Kommandant teetering around, acting like a drunken fool.

No, he didn’t need to do that. He felt foolish enough.

Shaking his head, he sighed and started towards the bedroom. He had about two hours before whatever happened happened, and he wanted to try getting some sleep. Even as little as an hour would be welcome if he could manage it.

And maybe he’d finally be able to stop thinking, if just for a while.


	13. Leaning on the Fence

Kinch was waiting for him when Hogan returned to his office. He looked almost angry although why and at whom or what wasn’t readily apparent. Before Hogan could ask his Sergeant what was wrong, Kinch shared the news Baker had received from London while he’d been monitoring the situation in Klink’s office.

Hogan considered himself a patient man, the sort of man who could roll with the punches and take what the world had to throw at him in stride. However, there were some things that made him see red no matter how calm he tried to be.

Finding out the mission he’d spent the last month and a half putting together had been canceled would have been bad enough. Finding out the mission he’d spent the last month and a half putting together had been canceled due to nothing more than a case of cold feet really ticked him off.

“They decided that it was too dangerous for them?” Hogan reaffirmed, trying to rein in his anger.

Kinch nodded, not looking much happier about the whole thing than Hogan felt. “They decided that it wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Well, that’s just great!” Hogan exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I just love this war: where men are men, and when you back out, you wait until the last damn minute!” Realizing he was shouting, he lowered his voice and glared at Kinch. “What the hell am I supposed to do with all this stuff now?”

Kinch raised his hands in supplication. “I’m sure we can find some use for it, sir.”

Sighing, Hogan took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair to take his irritation out on Kinch—he was the messenger, not the cause. “I know, I know, it just makes things more complicated, that’s all.”

“Why—?” then Kinch seemed to realize the answer. “You got Klink to trade you the wallpaper for your help, and now we don’t need it.” At Hogan’s nod, he frowned. “What did he want you to do for him anyway?

Now Hogan frowned. “Weren’t you listening?”

The other man nodded. “I was, but I shut off the receiver when Baker came in to give me the news from London. I figured you wouldn’t want him to listen in on any of this.”

“Good thinking.” Bad enough Carter had overheard something; he didn’t need anyone else eavesdropping too! Settling down onto his bunk, Hogan replaced his hat. “Well, Klink offered me the wallpaper in exchange for an escape.”

Kinch’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “He actually asked you to get him out of here?”

“No, no,” Hogan shook his head, smiling broadly at his Sergeant’s assumption. “Nothing that ambitious. He just wants a reason to get out of meeting with Adler, and he figures dealing with a prisoner escape will give him that reason.”

For a long moment, Kinch seemed to consider it. “It’s awfully short notice,” he remarked at last, his tone revealing nothing.

Hogan shrugged, not entirely sure what Kinch was up to with this act. He’d known the man long enough to know he should have some opinion about this. “We’ve had shorter deadlines before.” And for more difficult missions. London had a bad habit of waiting until the last possible moment to tell Hogan and his men to blow some thing up or to take photographs of secret plans among other things. At least, this one would be simple.

If he ended up actually doing it at all.

“What are you going to do, sir?” Kinch still sounded strangely noncommittal about the whole thing. Hogan knew he could just ask what was on his subordinate’s mind, but he trusted Kinch to tell him what he needed to know.

However, it was still annoying having to wait for him to get around to it.

“I don’t know,” Hogan said flatly, seeing no point in being coy just because Kinch was. “There’s nothing in it for us anymore—now that the mission’s been scrapped, I don’t need the wallpaper.” He crossed his arms and focused his attention upwards as he voiced his thoughts. “The men would want a better explanation for this mission than I can give them, and even though the risk is slight, it’s still more than I can justify just to do a favor for an enemy. Besides, do I really want Klink to know I can escape this little rat trap so easily with so little notice?”

A long pause and then, lightly: “No, but you want to help anyway.”

Hogan froze before bringing his head back down to look at the radioman. “Where did you get that idea?”

Kinch smiled slightly and explained, as though it was simple and obvious. “Well, sir, if you didn’t care one way or the other, you would have made your decision already—especially with all the negatives you’ve come up with.” He shrugged, trying too hard to look innocent. “And they were good points, but you have to admit, if those were your only concerns, you wouldn’t have even bothered discussing this with me.”

Hogan stared a moment longer. _Am I really that transparent,_ he wondered, _or is Kinch just that perceptive?_ Either way, it was a bit unnerving to feel like he’d been found out when he wasn’t really sure what he even thought! “I should have told Klink no as soon as he asked me, but I...” He trailed off, abandoning that line of thought because he wasn’t sure he wanted to share with Kinch the reason he hadn’t just said no.

The desperate hope in the man’s eyes and a reluctance to crush it.

“He’s actually afraid of me—can you believe it?” he said instead, half-chuckling and uncrossing his arms to gesture with his hands. “At roll call, I’m just looking at him, and he’s terrified. I stand next to him in the office, and he acts like I’m going to hit him or something. The guy needs a drink before being comfortable enough to have me in the room.” He slapped his hands onto his knees before waving a hand at Kinch, attempting to lighten the mood. “All I know is, if that keeps up, he’s going to be very difficult to work with.”

When Kinch made no reply, Hogan allowed himself a sigh and decided, if nothing else, he owed the man some honesty. “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like this change at all.” The obnoxious Klink was a hundred times better than this scared stiff one.

Kinch nodded with understanding. “So, what are you going to do, sir?”

Hogan put his elbows on his knees and propped his chin in upturned hands. “I don’t know, Kinch. I just … I just don’t know.”


	14. Defeat From the Jaws of Victory

Klink’s heart was pounding hard against his ribs, and he was covered in a cold sweat. He didn’t know what had roused him from his uneasy doze, but he had a strange feeling it had been something besides the end of an unremembered nightmare. However, if it had been something else, whatever that something had been, it was gone now. He didn’t hear anything unusual, and when he opened his eyes, the room was empty and dark.

He felt far from rested—on the contrary, he felt like a tightly wound spring after his abrupt awakening—but he didn’t think he could get back to sleep now if he tried. That being the case, he didn’t see any point in torturing himself. It had to be close to the time he had to get up anyway.

After fumbling in the dark, he caught hold of the cord for the lamp on his bedside table and turned it on. Blinking in the sudden light, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the small alarm clock he’d put there earlier. That couldn’t be right. He blinked again and frowned. He’d set the alarm to go off at 2150 but now it was slightly after 2200. His frown deepened when he picked the clock up and saw the reason it hadn’t gone off at the right time: he’d forgotten to switch it on.

He’d set the time, wound up the alarm bell but had forgotten to turn on the alarm. Klink put the clock down and sighed. It was annoying but not very surprising: there had been several times today when he’d gone to do something and had forgotten what he was doing while he was in the middle of doing it. Thankfully, the only time he’d let his mind wander that way in front of anyone else had been in the morning with Langenscheidt and Hilda, but it was still strange. Was he just getting old? Or was he losing his mind?

Either way, thanks to his mistake, he had a scant twenty or so minutes until 2230 and until whatever happened happened. Carefully, still feeling uncomfortably stiff, he got out of bed and headed over to where he’d piled the uniform he’d been wearing earlier. As he changed out of his night clothes and into his uniform, his thoughts turned towards the plan he’d had so much hope invested in before he went to bed.

While a small measure of that hope remained, now that he was running out of time and now that he’d had some sleep, Klink no longer held any real illusions Colonel Hogan would be able to do what he’d wanted him to. He realized it had been stupid of him to even ask for something so impossible in the first place. Stalag 13 had never had a successful escape—knowing that, requesting even a staged escape had been very unfair. The American was an undeniably clever man, but he couldn’t perform miracles! To actually believe for a moment he’d be able to pull it off...

Klink shook his head. He’d been desperate and more than willing to delude himself for a little hope. That’s all there was to it.

As he put on his tie, staring blankly back at the face in the mirror, the cynical part of his mind wondered why he was bothering with putting on a full uniform. It wasn’t as though he particularly cared anymore what General Adler thought of him. And even though the thought made his stomach flip unpleasantly, it wasn’t as though he’d be wearing it all for very long.

Really, it’d be more practical if he just went out there naked. At least then, he wouldn’t have to be … unwrapped like some kind of present.

On the other hand, ignoring for the moment how mortified he was at the thought of being nude in front of Adler at all, he didn’t want to do anything that would give the man the idea he was, in any way, looking forward to this. It was bad enough he had his own doubts on that score—after his behavior the night before, he didn’t know what to think—; he didn’t need to give Adler any ammunition to use against him.

 _Any_ more _ammunition,_ he corrected, sourly. Thanks to his complete lack of self control, Klink had already given the pig more ammunition than he’d ever need. Ammunition he clearly wasn’t afraid to use. _‘You seemed to be enjoying it last night.’_

Klink shuddered slightly at the memory and at the reminder. No, he didn’t need to give the man any more ideas.

Once he’d finished getting dressed, he took a moment to inspect his appearance. Tired, nervous and pale. Perfect. Out of habit, he reached for his monocle before bringing his hand back. It wasn’t as though he’d need it, and he’d rather not break another one. That could get expensive after a while.

With the lamp on, he almost didn’t notice there was light shining in from the crack on the bottom of the door to the living room. As it was, he only noticed it when he bent down to adjust his boots. When he did notice, he frowned again. He could have sworn he’d shut the lights off before going to bed. Of course, he could have sworn he’d set his alarm correctly, too, so that didn’t mean very much. Maybe he _was_ losing his mind.

Or was he?

Hesitantly, feeling like a fool but unable to stop himself, he stepped towards the door and put his ear to it. He heard nothing. What had he expected to hear? Anyone on his staff who needed him enough to enter his quarters would have woken him up. And he still had 10 minutes before it was time for his ‘meeting’ with General Adler—that would be in the office anyway.

Which reminded him, he still had to clean his desk off so nothing got broken tonight. Or any more broken than they were already.

Forcing his paranoia aside, he quickly opened the door before he had a chance to hesitate any longer. He stepped out into the main room and sighed in relief. No one was there. He known there wouldn’t be, but he just hadn’t managed to make himself believe it.

He’d just been paranoid. Again.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something wrong, and after a quick look around, he saw there was something amiss after all. The door to his office was open, and he knew without a doubt he hadn’t left it open. And, if he hadn’t left it open … 

… someone else had.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t too hard to guess who that someone had been. A part of him wondered where the man in question was now, but most of him was concerned with the fact that Adler had been in his quarters doing God knows what for God knows how long. The thought of that, that beast traipsing around here while he’d been asleep made his skin crawl. Nothing seemed out of place, but that didn’t mean anything. Well, one thing was for certain: he was never going to leave his office door unlocked again!

Except he really couldn’t do that. As much as he’d like to lock his door and hide away, he had to be readily available in case of a crisis, and knowing this camp, one could crop up anytime. Still, there had to be something he could do … Get a lock for his quarters, perhaps?

A door clicking shut interrupted his thoughts, and he turned towards the noise, knowing what had caused it but still feeling unreasonably surprised as his eyes lit on Adler. 

“Ah, Wilhelm!” he greeted enthusiastically. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to wake you up after all.” Then his lips twisted upwards. “Although, that could have been fun.”

Klink swallowed hard and did his best to ignore the General’s statement about waking him up: that man standing over him while he was asleep wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Although, if he had, that would certainly go a long way to explain his abrupt awakening. Anyway, he definitely had to get a lock for his quarters—first thing!

However, at the moment, he had other things to worry about. Such as the fact that Adler was striding towards him with an unmistakable look of hunger on his face. God, he wasn’t ready for this yet! “Uh, General,” he began quickly, doing his best to hide his growing panic, “ah,” what to say? What to say?, “wh-what are you doing here?” He immediately wanted to slap himself for asking a question like that. The General was unpredictable and a demanding question like that could very well set him off.

If Adler minded the question, he hid it well. He actually chuckled a bit as he stopped to stand in front of Klink. “Nothing yet,” he answered, reaching one arm to wrap around Klink’s waist and a hand to cup Klink’s face. “But I do have a few ideas.”

 _I bet he does,_ Klink thought with a shiver. He felt a bit sick, but he wasn’t sure whether it was due to Adler touching him or the amount of effort required to keep himself still when all he wanted to do was back away. It became a little harder to stay still when Adler leaned in and started to kiss him.

He decided if he never felt another tongue in his mouth besides his own, he could die a happy man.

Finally, Adler pulled away and smiled. “Now, it’s your turn. Kiss me.”

Klink’s head started to shake, but he stopped himself as soon as he realized he was doing it. He remembered all too well what had happened last time he’d refused to do this, and since he didn’t want to incite Adler to violence, he really had no choice. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he leaned in and put his mouth to Adler’s.

From here, he wasn’t quite sure what Adler wanted from him. Well, he could guess what he wanted… Klink just really, really didn’t want to do it. Of course, if any this had been about what he wanted to do, he wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place. Closing his eyes and pleading with his stomach to stop flipping, he hesitantly slid his tongue into Adler’s open mouth.

Almost immediately he pulled back, swallowing hard to keep himself from vomiting. He was aware of Adler’s disapproving look, but he was more concerned about keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. When he tried to step back, he was stopped by the harsh grip Adler had quickly taken on his arms.

“And where do you think you’re going?” When Klink was slow to answer, Adler tightened his grip. “Well?”

“I,” Klink paused, both to be sure he had his stomach back under control and to choose his words carefully. “I can’t do it, General. I just can’t.” Unfortunately, careful words were in short supply so he’d settled for blunt ones and hoped he wouldn’t regret them too much.

For a moment, it looked as though Adler was going to do something violent. Then he smiled almost gently, moving his hands back down to Klink’s waist. “All right. This can wait until next time.”

“Thank you,” Klink whispered, feeling horrified and ill all over once he’d realized he’d said it out loud. It had been the relief talking, and he had been thanking God besides, but he knew the swine would think he was thanking _him_.

Adler’s smile stretched wider. “It’s my pleasure, Wilhelm.” Then he let one hand drop from Klink’s waist and turned, forcing Klink to move with him. “However, now I think it’s time we got started.”

Klink saw instantly they weren’t heading towards the office, and he had a sinking feeling about just where Adler was going to be taking him. “W-wait,” he said, digging his heels in to stop his movement.

“What now?” Adler asked as he halted.

The other man’s annoyance was plain, and Klink knew what could happen if he didn’t handle this in the right way. “I’d, ah, I’d rather be in the office.”

Tilting his head, Adler regarded him with a cold smile. “Is that right?” Without giving Klink a chance to answer, he brought his hand back and slapped him hard across the face. “Did I ask you what you’d rather do!” he spat angrily.

Bringing his hand up to his throbbing cheek, Klink quickly shook his head. Then, remembering how Adler reacted when he didn’t answer out loud, he spoke, the words tumbling out of his mouth in an embarrassing tide. “No, General. Of course you didn’t! I didn’t mean to—”

Adler held up his hand, the one he’d just slapped him with, and Klink flinched even as he realized the other man just wanted him to be quiet. “That’s fine, Wilhelm,” he said, sounding like he was back in good spirits although there was a coolness in his eyes. “You’ve just got to be more careful—next time, I might not be so gentle with you. You understand?”

Oh, he understood. He just _wished_ he didn’t. Klink bowed his head and closed his eyes, feeling tired and defeated. “I understand.”

“Good,” Adler said, dragging Klink along once more, “now let’s get going.”

Klink offered no more resistance as Adler led him to his bedroom, although he had started to shake once the General had let him go and shut the door. His bedroom. This was going to happen in his bedroom. He hadn’t been able to sleep as it was—he didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep in here again.

Before he realized what was happening, Adler had pushed him down onto the bed. He landed on his back, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach: he felt sick, and he was finding it hard to catch his breath. The feeling only got worse as Adler climbed on top of him and pinned him down.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Adler whispered before he started to kiss Klink again. Closing his eyes, Klink tried not to think about Adler’s tongue in his mouth or the feeling of the man’s fingers working on his jacket. Instead, he focused on his breathing because he felt as though he wasn’t getting enough air. He knew he was, even with Adler kissing him he could still breathe through his nose, but his chest felt tight.

Breaking the kiss, Adler sat up, his weight settling uncomfortably on Klink’s pelvis as he leaned forward and started to untie Klink’s tie. Klink opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, shivering as he felt Adler’s hands on his throat. He only prayed, as the General pulled the tie off his neck, that he would never get used to this. If he got used to it, it would mean it didn’t bother him anymore.

And if he ever got to the point where this, this violation didn’t bother him anymore … he really would kill himself.

Klink gasped, not only at the terrible thought but also the sudden realization that, while he’d been thinking these dark things, Adler had not only finished unbuttoning his shirt but had started on his belt as well. He could feel the hands on his waist, and he did his best not to shift away as they explored inside his pants.

Adler took his hands away and leaned forward to kiss him again. Klink closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable—

—which didn’t come. Abruptly, Adler jumped off of him. 

Klink opened his eyes in time to see an unmistakably worried Adler roll off of the bed and land on the side away from the door. Sitting up, Klink frowned down at the man and wondered what had gotten into him.

He didn’t have too much time to wonder about it before his bedroom door opened and revealed a worried looking Sergeant Schultz. As the big man moved into the bedroom, Klink saw he wasn’t alone: standing behind him, and looking almost concerned, was Colonel Hogan.

“Schultz!” Klink exclaimed, not sure whether to be relieved at the brief reprieve or horrified as he realized his shirt was open and so were his pants. “Wh-what’s going on? And why is Colonel Hogan here?” he asked quickly as he stood and did his best to keep his hands from shaking as he hurriedly tried to make himself presentable again.

Schultz saluted, carefully keeping his eyes upwards. “Kommandant, I beg to report that there’s been an escape.”

Klink froze mid button, feeling his mouth go slack. “An escape?” Could it be...?

“Yessir,” Schultz answered, sounding very nervous. “Colonel Hogan alerted me that a man was missing, and when I counted, he was.”

As light headed as he felt from the sudden surge of hope he had in his system, Klink didn’t miss the part of this scenario that didn’t make sense. “Then why didn’t you sound the alarms?”

The Sergeant shrugged miserably, glancing backward at Hogan, looking all the world like he was pleading for help.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hogan said, sounding remarkably sincere, “but that’s my fault. You see, I know where Carter is—he’s the missing man—and I figured that it’d be easier to find him if there weren’t a bunch of trigger happy Germans combing the woods.” Then he shrugged easily. “Besides, I figured that it might look bad for you if General Adler found out that you had an escape while he was here. I thought we could keep it quiet.”

While that was a good enough story for Sergeant Schultz, Klink was only too aware General Adler was here, listening to every word. He had to make this convincing. He had to make this convincing or else Adler would know he’d planned this. Considering how he acted when Klink put up any resistance, for his own safety, he had to make this story more believable.

“H-how do you know where your man is? And why did you turn him in?”

Hogan cocked his head, a slight frown on his face. Klink wondered if this was part of his act or if he was annoyed Klink was trying to poke holes in his story. “He left us a note—you see, he got this Dear John letter, and it, it hit him pretty hard.” He looked down, his voice thick with concern when he spoke again. “He left us a note saying he was going to end it all once he found a high enough bridge. That’s why I want to find him as soon as possible.”

Klink nodded. It sounded good … but was it good enough? If it wasn’t, there wasn’t much he could do about it now except to make it sound as though he was going to follow some proper procedure. “All right. Schultz! Get another guard and prepare a truck. Colonel Hogan, you will come with us to find your missing man.”

“Us? You’re coming too?” Hogan asked, his surprise perhaps a bit too over the top.

Nodding again, Klink finished buttoning his jacket. “Yes, if you are going to be outside of this camp, I want to be there to make sure you aren’t planning to take advantage of this situation and escape.”

He was quite proud of how calm and in control he sounded when his heart seemed to be pounding fiercely enough to turn his insides into jelly. It almost felt as though his insides were already jelly. He felt wobbly enough to fall over any second. Biting his lip, he forced himself to pay attention to what was happening now. “Get going, Schultz!”

“Aye, sir!” Schultz said gratefully as he sped out of the bedroom as quickly as his legs could carry him. Klink watched him go and felt some of the tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized was there fade a bit. Then he turned his gaze to Colonel Hogan, who was smiling and about to open his mouth.

Klink shook his head sharply and mouthed ‘Don’t!’ as clearly as he could.

The American looked confused and a bit annoyed. ‘Why?’

The quickest way to deal with this would be to ‘tell’ him that General Adler was here and listening. However, considering his state of undress when Hogan and Schultz had come into his room, Klink didn’t even want to know what the Senior POW might think about the fact that the General was here, too.

“Commandant—”

Klink waved his hands wildly and mouthed ‘Not now!’ Then, recalling how pushy the American could be, he reconsidered his strategy. ‘Later.’ As long as Hogan didn’t blow it now, it really wouldn’t matter if Klink actually told him later or not. And he certainly didn’t plan on telling him. There were some things that no one needed to know.

Hogan didn’t look very happy about this but shrugged. “Never mind.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a short time until the Sergeant returned and told them that the truck was ready to go. Klink nodded and told him to take Colonel Hogan and go ahead, he would catch up in a few seconds. He wasn’t thinking about Adler, who was still hiding behind the bed—he was just going to grab his monocle and perhaps give himself some kind of pep talk. Being in such close quarters with those men with the way his imagination kept giving in to his paranoia wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

However, as soon as they were alone, Adler came out of his hiding space, rage shining in his eyes. Grabbing Klink’s upper arms with a fury Klink feared would leave bruises, the General leaned in close, his mouth centimeters from the captive man’s ear.

“I don’t know how you did this, Klink,” he hissed, his grip becoming more painful with every word he spoke, “but don’t think I’m going to let you off so easily.” He smashed his mouth against Klink’s in a vicious parody of a kiss before tossing Klink away from him. Klink landed roughly on the floor and stared up at Adler, his heart climbing up into his mouth.

The General turned away from him and casually laid down on Klink’s bed. “Go on, Wilhelm,” he said, his airy tone lined with lead, “go have your fun. But I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

After a couple false starts, Klink was able to find his feet. He stood there for a long moment, wanting nothing more than to leave but finding himself unable to move. Finally, he was able to convince his body that walking wasn’t really so hard, and he walked out of his bedroom. Shudders racked his frame, but he wasn’t sure, as he walked through the office and out of the building towards the waiting truck, whether it was due to the rough treatment he’d just received or the fact that his plan had been a complete failure.


	15. Movin' Right Along

It hit Hogan right as he was walking down the steps of the office building just what the Commandant’s problem had been. He had been trying to find the reason behind Klink’s agitation, his questions, and his insistence Hogan be quiet once they were alone, and now, feeling incredibly stupid, he’d finally figured it out.

Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? It was so obvious now. If the fact Klink’s clothes had been undone hadn’t clued him in, then the expression of stark, incredulous hope and the relief only partially covered by the man’s embarrassment should have told Hogan all he’d needed to know.

But it hadn’t. Even knowing what he’d known about Klink’s situation and what the ‘meeting’ with Adler would no doubt entail, he’d still thought the man had just been getting ready for bed when Schultz had opened the bedroom door. And while he’d thought it was strange Adler had been nowhere in sight, he’d figured the man had just changed his mind.

Of course, he realized now Adler had been very close at hand indeed and listening to every word. No wonder Klink hadn’t wanted Hogan to say anything after Schultz left! It would have been suicide. Although, Hogan wondered what Klink was thinking, staying behind instead of coming out with them. Even though Adler had no reason to believe Klink had any part in this escape, Hogan couldn’t imagine he’d be very pleased Klink had managed to weasel out of their ‘meeting’.

Hogan stopped mid-step and earned a puzzled look from Schultz, which he ignored. How ever Adler decided to show his displeasure, Hogan was willing to bet it would be nothing that was good for Klink’s health. If he’d realized Adler was there before, he’d never have left the Commandant there to fend for himself. At the very least, with Hogan there, Adler wouldn’t be able to vent his anger.

Of course, was that really his concern? Schultz gave Hogan a light push, and he started walking again, feeling annoyed with himself. Sure, he’d decided to go along with this little escape plan even though he wasn’t getting anything useful out of it anymore, but that didn’t mean he should particularly care about whatever trouble Klink was getting himself into. Klink’s safety was _not_ his responsibility. As long as that trouble wasn’t life or command threatening, it wasn’t any of Hogan’s business. The only reason he’d decided to help out this time was that his pity had, briefly, overcome his common sense.

Hogan quickly glanced at the truck and smiled. Carter was in place. Good. If he was going to be wasting his time with this foolishness, he was at least going to have it go to plan! He climbed into the rear of the truck and sat down on one of the benches. Watching the guard Schultz had roped into joining them on this little expedition, Corporal Kruger, climb up, Hogan’s thoughts returned to their previous track: Klink and why Hogan shouldn’t be worried about him.

He didn’t even like the man! He wasn’t even convinced what was happening to the Commandant _wasn’t_ his own fault in the first place. Just because he hadn’t personally been able to think of an alternative route Klink could have taken didn’t mean there hadn’t been one. Hell, if Klink really hadn’t wanted anything to do with Adler, he could have run away, fled the country, anything but just stay and take it!

Hogan sighed, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. All right, so that wasn’t fair. Even if Klink _had_ wanted to leave, where would he have gone? It wasn’t as though he had the resources or the connections to help him with such a plan. And Hogan doubted that the German military looked kindly on deserters.

Still, there should have been _something—_

“I don’t need your help, Sergeant,” Klink said, sounding as though he was gritting his teeth. “Now let go of me.”

Hogan put his hat back on and watched Klink climb into the back of the truck, too. Well, he was attempting to. Judging by the look of pain on his face, it seemed as though he could use some help despite his protestations. He’d been about to stand up and offer a hand to pull the man up when Schultz gave the Commandant a little boost. Either due to surprise at the unexpected help or just his usual lack of grace, Klink fell to his knees with a very audible curse.

He stood slowly, using the bench to pull himself up, before turning to glare down at Schultz. “Never touch me again,” he shrilled, his voice shaking as much as his hands. “Do you understand me!”

“Sir?” Schultz asked, bewildered and, perhaps, a bit stung. “Are you all right?”

The rage on Klink’s face softened and his lips quirked up a little at the corners. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it, Schultz.” Then he turned to face Corporal Kruger. “Corporal, I want you to ride in the front with the Sergeant.”

“Sir!” Kruger saluted sharply before his expression became troubled. “But sir, what about the pris—”

Klink cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand. “I think I can manage to keep an eye on Colonel Hogan.” When the younger man still hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. “I gave you an order, Corporal. Schnell!”

“Yessir!” Kruger hurriedly scrambled passed Klink, and Hogan couldn’t help but notice the momentary panic in Klink’s eyes as he did so. Once the Corporal had climbed down, Klink’s shoulders relaxed and he slumped slightly. Then, noticing Hogan was watching him, he tensed up again. Striding towards the front, he sat down close to the partition between the front and the back and gave the wall a couple of thumps. “Get going, Sergeant!”

The truck started to move, and Klink eased down onto the bench. As he had in the afternoon, he watched Hogan carefully, warily, as if waiting for Hogan to pounce. It became harder to see his expression as the truck left Stalag 13 and its lights behind, but Hogan doubted it changed. Every so often, Klink’s breath would hitch, and he’d mutter something to himself that sounded suspiciously like: “There’s nothing to worry about.”

It was irritating. It would be one thing if Hogan had done something to warrant this much scrutiny and fear, but this was ridiculous. When was the last time he had done something to Klink? Well, something Klink could blame him for? And why was Klink even sitting here with him? Never mind that an unarmed Commandant guarding an unrestrained prisoner was hardly regulation; if Klink was so distrusting of him, why had the man put himself in this position in the first place?

Of course, recalling the way he’d reacted to Schultz’s help and the way he’d looked when Kruger had slid passed him, maybe Hogan wasn’t the only one Klink was afraid of. What Hogan couldn’t figure out was why. Why was Klink suddenly so afraid? He’d been a coward as long as Hogan had known him, but he’d never been this bad. It usually took more than a look or a touch or just having Hogan within ten feet of him to make Klink act this way. Why should it be different now?

_‘It’s a bit like rape, isn’t it?’_

Hogan shook his head, annoyed all over again. So what if what Adler had done to Klink was like rape? What did that mean for a man? Hogan understood the basic mechanics of what a man could do with another man, but he didn’t see where having a sore bottom would make a man terrified of other men. He could understand if Klink was afraid of Adler—being in the Gestapo, Klink had probably been afraid of Adler before all this—, but why Schultz? Why Kruger? Why him?

What was he so afraid of?

“Colonel?”

Startled, Hogan turned his head in the direction of Klink’s voice. “What?”

“About this escape pl—”

“Commandant!” Hogan interrupted quickly, “I suggest coming back here if you want to talk about that.”

Klink hesitated but stood and made his way towards the back of the truck. He’d made it about three quarters of the way before the truck hit a large pot hole and he was knocked off balance. Luckily for him, Hogan had jumped up and caught his arm before he could fall. Klink’s arm went rigid in his grip, but Hogan didn’t pay it any mind as he dragged the unresisting man to the bench and sat down, bringing Klink down as well.

Hogan let go of Klink’s arm as soon as the other man was settled. Even though he was no longer touching him, he was sitting close enough to tell Klink was still shaking. He was also close enough to just about see his expression. Panic and terror were predominate but there was some nausea mixed in for good measure.

After a long moment, Klink swallowed hard and pointed across the way with a trembling hand. “Colonel, would you mind … would you mind sitting over there,” he asked, his tone cautious, as though he was afraid of Hogan’s reaction to the request.

Hogan didn’t consider himself to be a cruel man. And as perplexed as he was by Klink’s behavior, he could see Klink was genuinely afraid of him. It wouldn’t do any harm to move—from where they were, even if Hogan sat on the other side of the truck, their voices wouldn’t carry to the front—and it might put Klink at ease.

However, Hogan was becoming increasingly irritated by Klink’s fear and his own failure to understand it. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, and since he couldn’t ask Klink straight out what the hell his problem was, he’d have to rely on good old fashion body language and facial expression. Which meant, as dark as it was, the only way to collect these clues would be to sit as close as possible. And if Klink was uncomfortable, it was his own fault for being such a scaredy cat all of the sudden.

“If what you want to talk about is what I think you want to talk about, Commandant,” Hogan lied with a reassuring smile, “then I think it’s better if we don’t have to raise our voices.”

Klink worried his lip for a couple seconds before hanging his head in defeat. “I understand.” His hands clenched into tight fists, and he shook his head sharply before looking at Hogan again. His expression tried to be wholly businesslike but some of the fear remained. “About this escape plan of yours... When do you plan on ending it?”

Hogan felt himself frown. What a strange way to ask. And Klink had sounded so … subdued. So tired. As though ‘this escape plan of yours’ couldn’t end fast enough. A bit strange considering how much he’d wanted this. “What’s your hurry, sir? Gotta a hot date?” Hogan kept himself from wincing by the smallest of margins when he realized what he’d said.

It was a stock phrase, something irrelevant to lighten the mood or to illicit irritation depending on the circumstances. Usually, it was just a harmless quip. Tonight, knowing what it was Klink was getting out of with this escape plan, even if Hogan hadn’t decided what was really happening between him and Adler, it was something a bit less harmless.

Even if Klink had put himself squarely in this mess with Adler, well, Hogan wasn’t usually one to rub salt in other people’s wounds unless they _really_ deserved it. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it now without letting on he knew more than he had a right to know. All he could do was keep that ribbing grin on his face and wait for the Commandant to say something.

“N-no,” Klink stuttered finally, looking as though he might be sick any second, “nothing like that. It’s just that … it doesn’t...” He sighed and put a hand over his eyes. “I’d like to get tonight over with.”

And what did _that_ mean? Before Hogan could try figuring it out, he noticed something on Klink’s face. Something shining in the dim light. It wasn’t until Klink cursed and pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket that Hogan realized what it was. He felt his mouth drop open as he tried to reconcile what he was witnessing to the Klink he knew. He’d seen the Commandant brought low many times—sometimes, Hogan was the one responsible for his downfall—, but he’d never seen Klink do this. “Commandant?”

Klink wiped his eyes with the cloth and offered Hogan a weak and entirely false grin. “It’s just eye strain … it’s so dark in here, you see?” As if sensing this was insufficient, he added: “I haven’t been sleeping well either. I’m tired.”

That last wasn’t anything Hogan could argue with. As for the rest... Feeling a bit stunned by what he was seeing, he only managed an unconvincing ‘Sure.’

If Klink noticed the lack of sincerity in the reply, he didn’t mention it. Giving his face a final wipe, he put the handkerchief back into his pocket. When he spoke, he seemed recovered, although his voice sounded thick. “So, Colonel, when can you … wrap this up.”

Hogan shook his head and forced himself back to the mission. He could worry about Klink’s mood swings later. “Anytime, Commandant. It’d probably be better if we made it to the first bridge on the itinerary but—”

“But how?” Klink questioned with a puzzled frown that made him look much more like his old self. After that crying jag, it was a nice change of pace to see Klink acting like he _should_ act. He didn’t even look quite as afraid as he had a moment ago.

 _But how long will that last?_ Hogan thought moodily before he answered. “Well, Sergeant Carter’s on top of the truck—” at Klink’s incredulous look, Hogan grinned. “That was the main reason I didn’t want the other guards alerted about the escape. They would have spotted him right away if they’d been looking.” A small lie: Carter was very well concealed in his hiding spot and having the guards on alert wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Still, it would be better if the Iron Eagle had no inkling of how easy escape from his cage really was.

Klink was frowning in thought. “So, when the truck stops at the right bridge, you give him a signal to jump off the truck and be caught?”

“That’s right, sir.” When Klink replied with a noncommittal ‘I see’, Hogan shrugged with mock defensiveness. “It was the best I could do with such short notice—if you’d wanted tunnels, you should have given me at least a week!”

A small but genuine smile of amusement flickered onto Klink’s face. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The smile disappeared quickly, and Klink looked subdued once more. “Give him that signal when we get to the first bridge.”

“Are you sure?” Hogan asked, a vague suspicion forming in his mind about the reason Klink was in such a hurry to ‘get tonight over with’. “It’s a good night for a wild goose chase.”

Klink nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.” Then he leaned back against the wall of the truck and closed his eyes. “You can have your wallpaper in the morning. Just discuss it with Fraulein Hilda. I’ll tell her you have permission to requisition a roll.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hogan said, surprised Klink was actually going to keep his end of a bargain without coercion for once. Especially seeing as his plan, as far as Hogan could tell, would be a failure. The only reason Hogan could think of for Klink to be so eager for tonight to end was if Adler had decided to wait them out. Otherwise, he’d want to be out of camp as long as possible to make sure Adler couldn’t change his mind.

So, in the end, Klink’s plan, like most of Klink’s plans, would fail. It really shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. “I’m just sorry that it didn’t work out for you.”

Klink jerked up, his eyes wide and his mouth open. “Wh-what are you talking about!”

While Hogan had meant what he’d said (seeing as he’d gone to this trouble for Klink’s sake, it would have been nice if it hadn’t been a wasted effort!), he wanted to kick himself for actually saying it out loud. Now what was he supposed to say, huh? How was he supposed to write that little comment off? Even if he could explain how he’d managed to find out the truth behind the whole Adler mess without giving up his operation, that was one conversation he did _not_ want to have with Klink. For one thing, he hadn’t even decided where he stood on the trouble Klink had gotten himself into.

Hogan shrugged, going for nonchalance, and crossed his figurative fingers Klink would buy this. “You just don’t look happy for someone who got what he wanted, that’s all.”

For a long moment, Klink only stared, his expression indicating he didn’t quite believe Hogan’s explanation. Then, perhaps not wanting to have that conversation either, he half shook his head and a painfully forced chuckle came out of his mouth. “I’m perfectly happy, Colonel. I’m just a bit too tired to show it.”

Hogan wasn’t interested in calling Klink on his lie on the off chance Klink might call him on his own. Instead, he smiled and nodded. “All right, sir.”

As the silence stretched between them, Hogan’s observations and guesses tumbled around in his mind as he tried to get a handle on the whole situation. By the time they’d reached the first bridge, he still hadn’t come up with an answer. He was beginning to think, as he watched Carter drop down from the truck and prepare to be chased, there wasn’t a simple answer after all.


	16. It's a Long Way Home

Now, there were two of them to watch. It was irregular (and not altogether safe) to have an unarmed man watching two unrestrained prisoners, but Klink hadn’t felt he could justify having Hogan handcuffed after leaving him free for the trip out. As for Sergeant Carter... While it had been tempting to have the ‘escaped’ prisoner restrained, he’d finally opted not to: Carter _had_ done him a favor, and it’d be poor repayment to make the young man suffer for the sake of his paranoia.

So, they remained unrestrained. As for why he was watching them by himself, he’d had two alternatives and neither were ones he’d liked. Either he had Sergeant Schultz or Corporal Kruger in the back with him to keep an extra set of eyes on the prisoners or he joined the driver in the front while one of the guards took his place in the back. The first was no good because then there would be three people Klink had to watch, and the second was no good because Klink wasn’t completely certain he could get out of the truck without help considering the difficulties he’d had getting in.

The other option had been to borrow a rifle from one of the guards. But with the way his imagination had been running away with him, he didn’t trust himself with a gun. With all the terrible things he could say about himself lately, he didn’t need to add ‘murderer’ to the list. 

So, he was stuck where he was, watching the two Americans like the Iron Eagle Colonel Hogan often called him. At least they seemed to be behaving themselves. It was a bit difficult to see them in the dark, but they were only three feet in front of him, so he could make out the important details. Hogan was leaning back with his hat over his face, either napping or thinking, while Carter spent much of his time staring at the floor when he wasn’t returning Klink’s stare. If the way the younger man was fidgeting was any indication, he was uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

Klink could sympathize with that feeling, but he had other things to worry about besides Carter’s comfort. While the man looked as harmless as always, Klink felt like he couldn’t take the risk he was wrong about that too. What reason did he have to trust any of the prisoners, anyway? Besides, his miscalculation about this escape attempt had already put him in enough trouble tonight. Trembling fingers drifted towards his mouth as he recalled the violence of Adler’s kiss and the fury in those cold eyes...

What was Adler going to do to him once he got back to camp? Getting back early might assuage the man’s anger somewhat, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make Klink pay for this escapade. He already thought Klink was responsible for it, and Klink doubted anything he could say would do anything to change his mind. And even if Adler did believe he wasn’t responsible, odds were the General would make him pay anyway.

Swallowing down a sudden bout of nausea, he shook his head sharply and tried not to think about it anymore. It wouldn’t do him any good to worry about what was waiting for him later—he had to pay attention to what was happening now. And right now, Sergeant Carter was staring at him. Much of the man’s expression was lost to the shadows, but the tilt of his head indicated he was staring at him intently.

“Commandant?”

Klink jumped a bit, not expecting Carter to actually speak to him. “What is it?” he asked, trying very hard not to snap.

Carter hesitated, and when he finally spoke, he sounded very uncertain. “Is... Is there something on my face?”

Klink could only gape at him in complete and utter incomprehension. What on earth...?

As if sensing the Kommandant’s confusion, he elaborated. “I mean, you keep looking at me, and you have this weird look on your face, and I was just wondering...” He trailed off with a helpless shrug.

Technically speaking, Kommandants of POW camps didn’t owe their prisoners explanations about anything, but Klink knew that this situation would become more awkward if he simply ignored the question. But what to say? _‘I’m watching you because I have this paranoid idea that you’re going to jump me as soon as I’m not paying attention’? No._ “I’m just thinking, Sergeant.” Then an idea to forestall any more questions came to him. “I was just thinking about what your punishment should be.”

Thankfully, Carter looked back down at the floor after saying a quiet ‘Oh.’

Not so thankfully, Colonel Hogan chose that moment to resurrect the conversation. “Come on, sir—don’t you think he’s suffered enough?” Then he elbowed the Sergeant, who suddenly tried very hard to look dejected. “This poor boy just lost his girl.”

Klink could feel himself frown. What was this? He remembered the cover story about the Sergeant receiving some bad news from home, but why was Hogan bringing it up now? Because this sounded an awful lot like the American was trying to cajole him into giving his man a lighter punishment—much like he would if this had been a normal escape attempt. But this wasn’t one of those, so why was he doing it? Did Hogan just want to put on a convincing show for Schultz and Kruger?

Eyeing the Sergeant, who was still overplaying his look of depressed dejection, Klink decided that wasn’t the reason. If this was for the guards, there would be little point in the younger man’s overacting—neither of them was in any position to see the performance. But that left _Klink_ as the audience, and _that_ didn’t make any sense because this whole escape attempt business had been _his_ idea in the first place!

Unless... Unless the Sergeant _didn’t_ know about the deal—the arrangement he and Colonel Hogan had come to earlier? It was certainly possible, but if that was the case, what had Hogan told him to get him to agree to come out? Klink supposed Hogan could have just ordered the Sergeant to escape, but surely, there had to have been _some_ kind of rationale for the attempt—

“Sir?”

Klink blinked at the interruption and needed a few seconds to remember what they had been talking about before his thoughts had wandered. Right. Sergeant Carter’s punishment. He knew what Hogan wanted him to do but knew, just as surely, that would be a big mistake. Glancing at Carter, he wished he knew for certain whether or not the younger man was in on this—it would make sorting the problem out much easier. “I have to give him _something_ ,” he said at last.

Hogan adopted an expression of moral outrage that Klink doubted was genuine. “Don’t you have a heart? I’m sure Sergeant Carter will never do it again,” he glared at Carter, who shied away from the look, “if he knows what’s good for him.”

Fleetingly, Klink wondered if that was how he looked when General Adler threatened him. Bringing himself back to the present, he allowed himself a sigh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hogan, but my hands are tied—I can’t let him off without any punishment at all.” That would be putting the possibly not so figurative nail in his coffin: letting the man who attempted to escape off would only confirm Adler’s suspicions.

But there had to be _something_ he could do; even if this whole thing hadn’t turned out quite the way he’d planned, giving Hogan’s man a harsh punishment seemed like poor thanks for what he’d tried to do. A compromise, perhaps? Before he could come up with something satisfactory, the truck stopped, and he heard Schultz talk to the guard at the gate.

Stalag 13. They were back at camp already. Panic swelled in Klink’s stomach, and he wondered if, maybe, he’d been too hasty in ending Hogan’s goose chase early. It wasn’t a good idea to risk increasing Adler’s wrath, but Klink didn’t feel anywhere near ready to face the man again. To walk into his bedroom and come face to face with that monster. To be violated on his own bed. To find out whether last night’s reaction had been only a fluke. And to face the very real possibility that it hadn’t been.

A hand shaking his shoulder snapped him out of his terrible musings, and he stared into the concerned face of Colonel Hogan, who suddenly looked an awful lot like General Adler. The man was saying something, but Klink wasn’t sure what it was: blood was pounding too loudly in his ears for him to hear anything—he couldn’t even hear the ragged breaths that came when he remembered to breathe again.

The hand on his shoulder was just resting there, but who knew when that would change? He knew it was Hogan’s hand and that Hogan wasn’t likely to do something violent like Adler, but at that moment, Klink’s overtaxed imagination couldn’t help but amalgamate the two. He could feel the heat of the hand through his jacket. Worms on his skin.

He stamped down the urge to back away, to free himself, because he didn’t want to be hit again. Instead, he closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. “Please... Please let go of me.”

Abruptly, the weight of the hand disappeared. Embarrassment replaced Klink’s terror as his head cleared. He’d over-reacted. Again. Opening his eyes, he saw Hogan, who didn’t look very much like Adler at all, really, had backed away, an unidentifiable expression on his face. Then, very quietly, as though dealing with an animal which might bolt at any second, he spoke: “We’re back at camp, sir.”

Klink nodded and stood slowly, uncertain whether his unsteadiness was due to the episode he’d just had or due to the aches that had plagued him since Adler had … collected on their deal. Glancing around, he saw they weren’t alone in the truck: Sergeant Carter was there as well, hovering behind Hogan and looking completely bewildered. He felt too exhausted by the brief bout of terror to worry too much about what that prisoner might think.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. He turned away from the Americans (which proved to be a difficult task all on its own) and made his way to the back of the truck. Stopping at the edge, he looked down and felt his heart sink. To think, yesterday, he’d have made it down without any trouble at all. Now? Now it looked very high up indeed.

Sergeant Schultz stood to his right on the ground and gazed up at him, uncertainly holding out his arm for Klink in a silent offer of help. Klink looked at the arm and at the Sergeant. He had nothing to fear from Schultz. Nothing. Klink took hold of the arm. It was going to be fine. Once he climbed out of the truck, he forced himself to stand next to Schultz until Hogan, Kruger, and Carter joined them.

As soon as Carter arrived, Schultz took hold of the younger man’s arm, as though he feared the American might try to escape again. “What do you want done with the prisoner, Kommandant?”

Klink regarded Carter with a frown. How could he be so calm? Sure, Sergeant Schultz was about as intimidating as a jelly doughnut (although, he reconsidered with a stab of self loathing, he could hardly claim that was true for _him_ anymore), but the two men _were_ on the opposite sides of the war. Here he was, about to receive a punishment from his jailer, and he wasn’t the least bit afraid—he didn’t even have the decency to look nervous about it!

 _Fine,_ Klink thought with more than a bit of jealousy, _let’s see about_ that _._ “Put him in the cooler. Two weeks ought to do it, don’t you think?” he finished with a smile, feeling a measure of sadistic glee at the look of dismay on Carter’s face. _That’ll teach him to be so … complacent._ There was still no fear, but Klink hadn’t really wanted that anyway: he had enough reasons to hate himself without acting like General Adler. 

“But Commandant—” Hogan protested, sounding almost betrayed.

Klink held up his had to silence the Senior POW while, simultaneously, fighting the impulse to back away from Hogan’s obvious ire. “Colonel Hogan, it’s late, and I want to go to,” he only stumbled on the word a little, “bed. If you want to discuss this man’s punishment, it will have to wait until tomorrow.” While he’d given Carter two weeks in the cooler to be spiteful, this would work out perfectly: Hogan could ‘convince’ him to decrease the punishment, and Adler would be satisfied Klink didn’t have anything to do with this escape after all... Well, he wouldn’t have any _more_ reasons to be suspicious of Klink’s part in it, anyway.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Surprise and understanding flashed across Hogan’s face before his expression shifted into unhappy acceptance. “Very well, sir.” Then he turned his attention to Sergeant Schultz and glowered at him. “You better not rough him up like you did last time.”

Schultz looked helplessly at Klink. “I never did, Kommandant!” he sputtered, sounding affronted at the very idea of being accused of such a thing. He turned towards Hogan and muttered something which sounded like ‘You jolly joker!’, before turning back, his mouth open to, no doubt, offer some more fervent denials.

“Fine, Sergeant,” Klink interrupted, realizing Schultz could continue on in this vein for hours if he let him. While there was a part of him that saw the attraction of the idea, he knew, if he hoped to get through tonight in more or less one piece, he had to stop stalling. “Just take him to the cooler.”

Schultz looked positively relieved as he saluted. “Yessir!”

Now that that was out of the way, Klink looked to Corporal Kruger. “Take Colonel Hogan back to his barracks.”

Once both men were gone, Klink wrapped his arms around himself, fighting a chill which had nothing to do with the weather. He could remember a time when standing next to four men wouldn’t have bothered him at all. He could even remember a time when standing in front of all the Allied prisoners with their heckling and hateful gazes during roll call didn’t make him feel the least bit nervous. And there was a time, he was fairly certain, when a simple hand on his shoulder didn’t make his heart climb into his mouth.

Had it only been yesterday? He shivered and held himself a bit tighter. Yes, but it seemed a lot longer than that now.

He shivered again as a chill breeze cut into him. It wasn’t getting any warmer out here, was it? And as much as he would rather stand out in the cold all night, he knew there was no way he could. Adler was waiting, and he was in enough trouble as it was. Waiting and stalling would no doubt make the General more angry and whatever he had planned worse.

Doing his best to ignore his churning stomach, Klink slowly climbed up the steps of the office building and walked inside. He hung his coat on the rack in his office, and after a moment’s indecision, poured himself a small drink from the bottle he kept on his filing cabinet. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to truly settle him, but he hoped it might help him gain some control over his jumpy nerves. He wanted to have some control over himself before he faced Adler again.

Control. Now _that_ was funny.

Klink quickly swallowed down a sob and then the liquor, which felt like a flaming rock tumbling down his throat. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to stop the tears he could feel forming from falling. He had no control over what Adler was going to do to him, but he had no interest in crying in front of the swine if he could avoid it—bad enough he’d already done so in front of Colonel Hogan. Of course, Klink doubted the American had enjoyed the sight as much as Adler would.

An indeterminable amount of time and one drink later, Klink felt calmer and in as much control as was possible considering the circumstances. Summoning up his courage, he stalked through his quarters and opened his bedroom door—

—seeing no one. Even though the main source of light in the room was coming through the door he’d just opened, he could plainly see there was no one on the bed.

Klink stood in the doorway and wondered what was going on. Had Adler changed his mind? That seemed unlikely considering what he knew about the man, but if Adler hadn’t, then where was he? He turned his head to look in the main room and was unsurprised to find he hadn’t simply walked by Adler there without noticing him.

Cautiously, not trusting this situation at all, he walked into the room and started for the bedside table. Maybe shedding a little light on the subject might help. Just as he’d reached his destination, the bedroom door slammed, plunging the room into darkness. Klink spun around just in time to be pushed back onto the bed.

It didn’t take Klink very long to figure out who the weight on top of him was and whose mouth had latched onto his own and whose tongue was in his mouth. Or whose hands were busily working on the buttons of his jacket and then his shirt.

“Welcome back, Wilhelm,” Adler whispered as he drew back, his hands already finding purchase beneath Klink’s belt. “I’ve been waiting for you.”


	17. A Skirmish of Words

Hogan ignored the questioning looks he received from his men when he entered Barracks 2 under the watchful eye of Corporal Kruger. He ignored the questions they asked him as he made his way to his office. He shut the door behind him before walking over to his window to stare out into the compound. Klink was still there, in front of the building. It didn’t look like he was doing much of anything besides staring at the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. _What’s going on now?_

Apparently nothing. Almost as soon as Hogan asked himself the question, Klink started for the steps. He watched him until he disappeared inside the office building, putting up the blackout curtain once he was satisfied there was nothing else to see. Then Hogan made his way to his bunk and sank down (an exaggeration: the mattress wasn’t quite thick enough to ‘sink’ more than a quarter inch) onto it. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. God, what a night this had turned out to be.

And with everything he had to think about, he knew the night wasn’t close to being over. He hung his hat on the edge of the bunk and rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up a little. Maybe he should see if there was any coffee left in his Red Cross package. Some caffeine would clear up the grogginess nicely. Then he remembered the last of his coffee had gone to LeBeau, who had attempted to bake something with it. Some kind of pastry. Unfortunately, while the stove was fine for cooking things on top of, the attempt to convert it into an oven had been less than successful. LeBeau had been crestfallen for days...

He shook his head. Well, no matter. With all the disturbing things he’d seen and the way his mind was racing, he doubted he could fall asleep if he’d wanted to.

Damn Klink anyway! If he hadn’t agreed to deal with Adler, Hogan wouldn’t have to had to worry about any of this in the first place. This was all his fault! Klink could have gotten himself out of this mess if he’d wanted to.

Except Hogan wasn’t sure that was true anymore. Every time he’d thought about what else Klink could have done, he never came up with anything that _didn’t_ end with being tortured and killed. It was beginning to look like Klink’s only two choices had been sleeping with Adler or taking his chances with the Gestapo. The latter was suicide, of course, but the former... How could he agree to that?

A knock at his door interrupted his musings. He looked up in time to see the door swing open to reveal Kinch, Newkirk and LeBeau. “Can we come in, sir?” Kinch asked for all of them.

“Look’s like you’re already in,” Hogan said, forcing himself to sound amused about it. “What can I do for you?”

Newkirk stepped forward. “We just wanted to know how it went.” Then he looked around, as if searching for something. “And where Carter’s gone off to.”

How it went? Well, at least he wouldn’t have to lie about that. “It didn’t,” he answered, not having to fake the irritation in his voice, “and Carter’s in the cooler, but I can probably get him out tomorrow.”

“What happened, _Colonel_? Did you get the plans?” LeBeau asked.

When Hogan had broached the ‘escape’ subject with the men, he’d decided not to tell them that it was for Klink. For one thing, he didn’t want to explain to them _why_ Klink wanted to get out of camp, and for another, he knew he’d have to cajole them to get them to agree to help the Commandant, and he simply hadn’t been in the mood for that.

Instead, he’d told them that London had informed him of an underground group who had stolen some plans for a new missile prototype, and that they were planning to hide these plans under a certain bridge for Hogan to pick up and then send along to London. Considering he’d come up with this less than five minutes before he talked to the men, he thought it was pretty convincing.

“It was a waste of time,” Hogan replied, shrugging. “Either London got some bad intelligence or the group changed its mind. I didn’t find any plans.”

Newkirk frowned and, for a moment, looked as though he was going to question something. Then he shrugged to himself.

LeBeau, on the other hand, seemed satisfied. “It’s cold tonight; _André_ will need something to warm him up.” He gave Hogan a pleading look. “May I go?”

Hogan hesitated. That wasn’t such a good idea for many reasons.

“Can I go too, governor?” Newkirk asked, a too innocent expression on his face. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the inside of the cooler, you know.”

But good idea or not, sometimes, you had to know when to bow to the inevitable. Unfortunately, it would mean, after tonight, he would have to explain to the three of them just what had been going on for the last two days. Even if Carter had a tendency to be less attentive if the subject wasn’t explosives, he wasn’t blind. Also, despite how well he hid it sometimes, he wasn’t stupid either. What he’d seen tonight definitely fell into the range of unusual, and well, it wasn’t as though Hogan had had a chance to order him to keep it all to himself.

It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to or one he felt prepared for. “Of course, just don’t be too long.” He watched them go, feeling tired. About the only good thing which would come out of it was that he’d be able to stop lying to them. Which was a pretty good thing, now that he was thinking about it.

“Sir?”

He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation he was planning on having with Kinch now either. But he knew that was inevitable too. “Shut the door, Kinch.” Once he had done so, Hogan gestured to the chair by the table. “Sit down.”

Kinch sat and regarded Hogan with curiosity. “Is there something you want to talk to me about, sir?”

“You could say that.” Hogan took a moment to collect his thoughts. “You said yesterday you thought that what’s happening with Klink was a bit like rape, right?” At Kinch’s slow nod, he pressed on. “Why did you think that?”

Kinch blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. “I guess it first came to me after Adler kissed Klink.” At Hogan’s questioning look, he elaborated. “One second, Adler says something about a demonstration, then about a minute of silence, and then he says that Klink didn’t like being kissed.” He sat back in the chair. “Anyway, Klink didn’t sound happy about Adler forcing himself on him, and that’s what made me first think of it. When Adler gave him the choice between having sex with him or taking his chances with the Gestapo... If Klink wanted to save his skin, he had no choice—Adler was forcing his hand, and rape is when a woman’s forced so...” He shrugged. “It just seemed like it could be the same thing.”

Hogan wished it was as cut and dry to him. It sounded simple enough when Kinch put it like that, but there was still a part of him which didn’t think the word applied, and that it didn’t matter even if it did. Klink should have fought back, even to the point of risking his life, to get out of it. Anything but just meekly accepting what Adler did to him. No man would allow himself to be used like that if it wasn’t what he wanted. So, since Klink didn’t fight back, he must have wanted it.

Remembering what he’d seen tonight, a broken man sitting in the back of a dark truck, he found it difficult to justify this line of thought. Klink’s behavior had shaken him, and for the first time, he was beginning to feel genuinely concerned about the Commandant—and not just because an incapacitated Klink would be bad for the operation, but because Klink obviously was having serious problems. Because Klink, the person, was in pain. He didn’t even like the man, but he was worried about him for his own sake.

The two sides of him warred, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure _what_ he believed anymore. He hoped Kinch would be able to give him some more puzzle pieces to work with, some more thoughts to consider. See how _he_ answered the questions that had been plaguing Hogan since this whole mess began.

“You don’t think Klink wanted to have sex with Adler?”

Kinch raised an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. “Not a chance. You didn’t hear Adler talk to him.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. “Made my skin crawl, and I wasn’t even in the same room. Klink has a lot more wrong with him than I ever thought if he’d want to sleep with someone like that—besides, I really doubt that Klink would want to sleep with _anyone_ who was willing to throw him to the Gestapo.”

Recalling the many lovely enemy agents he’d met in his time, Hogan didn’t think this argument was quite good enough, Kinch’s skin crawling aside. In the line of duty, he’d been attracted to plenty of women who’d wanted him dead. “Would it make a difference if he was a homosexual?”

“I’ve … never had any reason to believe that Klink liked men that way,” Kinch said slowly, incredulously, as though he suddenly had reason to believe that maybe Hogan had lost his mind. Judging by the expression on his face, it wasn’t a subject he wanted to think about. “Why, have you?”

“No, but let’s pretend for a second that he is,” Hogan insisted, refusing to be sidetracked. “Would that make a difference as far as wanting what happened to him is concerned? Adler is a handsome man if you like them Aryan.”

Still looking baffled by the question, he shook his head. “I don’t think it makes a difference: Adler still forced Klink to have sex with him.” Perhaps seeing the skepticism Hogan was trying to hide, he frowned. “When a man forces a woman to have sex, I don’t think she likes it or wants it because she usually likes to sleep with men. Even if Klink _did_ like men that way, Adler _still_ had to threaten him with the Gestapo to get him to agree.”

There was that. It always came back to that. As paranoid as the German military was lately—had always been?—there was little doubt in Hogan’s mind Adler could do as he’d threatened and quite easily. For a man like Klink, one who would be willing to do anything to preserve his life, there hadn’t been any alternative. He was beginning to believe that much. But even so, Hogan had no doubts that, if _he’d_ been in that position, he’d have fought to the last. As long as there had been the slimmest of chances, he would have fought it. “Why did Klink just give in?”

“Because he wanted to live,” Kinch answered baldly. He frowned and favored Hogan with a perplexed look. “Sir, you know Klink better than I do; wouldn’t he do just about anything to save his skin?” Shaking his head, he splayed his hands out in a frustrated gesture. “Why does that bother you? It’s not like he offered Adler someone else to use in his place.” He shook his head. “I can’t blame him for wanting to live.”

Hogan frowned back, his own frustration building. “And what would _you_ have done, Kinch? Would you have let Adler have his way with you? Would you have played the whore, too?”

Kinch folded his arms, his frown deepening. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he said tightly. “I can _say_ I would rather die than let something like that happen to me, but when faced with the actual decision,” his expression softened as his arms uncrossed, “I don’t know what I’d do.” He looked Hogan in the eyes. “How can any of us know what we’d do until it’s happened to us?”

“ _I’d_ know,” Hogan said firmly. Seeing the disbelief bloom on the other man’s face, he decided to ask another question before Kinch could gather up any more steam for the subject. “Now, you said it was _like_ rape and that Klink would change. Do you think it works the same way for men and women?” He wasn’t quite ready to concede that point either, but he was interested in knowing Kinch’s opinion.

“ _That_ I’m not sure about,” Kinch confessed, accepting the change in subject with grace. “I’m no psychiatrist, and it’s not like I’ve been in contact with many people who’ve been raped.” He shrugged. “I’m not an expert.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Hogan countered more tersely than he’d meant to. “I just want to know what you think about it.”

Kinch stared at him for a long moment, his expression searching. “I _think_ it’s time you tell me what this is all about, sir. Did something happen tonight?”

Hogan considered denying it. However, maybe having Kinch’s perspective on tonight’s events would be helpful. “You could say that.” He went on to explain to Kinch what he’d observed of Klink’s behavior, from surprising him in his bedroom to trying to get his attention in the back of the truck. Once he’d finished, he shook his head. “I don’t know if you were right about everything, but you were damn near prophetic when you said he’d change.”

For his part, Kinch seemed taken aback. “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted in a stunned tone. “I’d only thought it _might_ be like what happened to my sister’s friend. But it all fits,” he held up a hand and ticked the points off as he named them, “not liking to be touched, being emotional, afraid of men, that episode you described—she acted just like that after she’d been raped.” He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

Contrary to his words, it was obvious he did believe. Hogan wasn’t as ready to consign himself to that theory. “I’m still not convinced that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

Kinch straightened in his seat, some of his earlier ire returning. “Then what, sir? What are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know,” Hogan snapped before reminding himself it wasn’t Kinch he was angry with. “I don’t know,” he repeated softly. That was about the only thing he was certain of. He didn’t know if the Commandant was a victim of anything beyond his own stupidity and what difference it made if what Adler was doing to him was anything besides a particularly nasty brand of blackmail. He didn’t know if what Klink had surrendered to was the lesser or greater of two evils, if he’d made the right choice or if he should have fought to the last. He didn’t know why Klink was acting the way he was acting or if he should even care about it beyond what difficulties it would present him when he had to deal with the man.

He couldn’t even be certain this whole mess _wasn’t_ Klink’s fault in the first place or what it meant if it wasn’t.

“What are you going to do?”

It was galling. Even if Hogan wanted to help, the fact of the matter was that there was nothing he _could_ do. That Kinch was asking him the question as if there was and he just wasn’t seeing it, only made the feeling worse.

“There’s nothing I _can_ do,” he stated with heat, standing because he was too keyed up to sit anymore. “I can’t do anything about Adler unless I want a lot of Gestapo scrutiny. I can’t get Klink out of the country because we need him here, and I don’t know how I’d explain his disappearance anyway.” He threw up his hands. “And I couldn’t do that even if I could because I can’t justify putting the men in danger for this!” Striding towards the window, he stared at the blackout curtain, imagining the sweeping searchlights beyond it. “So, if you’ve got any suggestions, feel free to tell me.”

He hadn’t expected an answer to his sarcastic plea so he was surprised when he received one. “You could talk to him. Get him to open up to you. Be supportive.”

Slowly, Hogan craned his neck to look at Kinch. “Talk to him? How can I talk to him? Kinch, in case you’ve forgotten, he’s terrified of me.” Shaking his head, he returned his gaze forward. “Besides, we’re on opposite sides of the war... Pretending for a moment that what’s happening is what you think it is, I really doubt I’m the one he’d want to talk to.” He smiled tightly even though Kinch couldn’t see it. “And I don’t think I could discuss it with him even if I was. I’m still not sure that this whole mess _isn’t_ his fault.”

A long pause. “I told you that my sister’s friend committed suicide.” Kinch said his apparent non-sequitur quietly. “Did I tell you why she killed herself?”

Something in Kinch’s tone made Hogan turn to face him again. “No.”

“Because it ate her up inside. Because the people who didn’t think she’d led the man on or was making it up told her the best way to deal with the problem was to pretend it didn’t exist. Act like it hadn’t happened. Even her parents told her, if she didn’t talk about it, it would all just go away.” He shook his head, saddened and sickened by the memory. “She lasted a month before she couldn’t take it anymore.”

“That’s terrible,” Hogan said with sympathy, “but Klink isn’t in the same boat she was. She couldn’t choose what happened to her; _he_ chose what happened to _him_.” Sure, his other option, as far as Hogan could see, had been death, but he’d still made that choice. 

Right?

Kinch’s expression darkened, and Hogan could see how much it was costing him to remain calm. “And what about the changes? If he chose what happened to him, why is he acting so differently?”

Hogan shrugged, brushing off the concerns as unimportant. “He’s just feeling out of sorts. I’m sure once Adler leaves, Klink will be his same old, obnoxious self again.” How much he wished he actually believed that! If only this situation was that simple.

It took several seconds for Kinch to collect himself, and, when he spoke, he couldn’t hide his frustration. “Maybe I’m wrong, sir, and maybe Klink wasn’t raped—I mean, _I_ wasn’t even certain that’s what it really was until you told me what happened tonight. And maybe, if he was, it’s different for men.” Standing, he turned away from Hogan as he spoke. “Maybe you’re right, and Klink’ll just snap out of this as soon as Adler leaves. Maybe nothing _has_ to be done at all.”

He paused and turned back, allowing Hogan to see his deepening frown. “But what if he _doesn’t_ snap out of it? What if he _can’t_ handle it on his own?” Gesturing out the window, he stepped closer to his commanding officer. “Will it matter whether or not it was his fault if he commits suicide? When he gets replaced by God knows who?” Now, inches from Hogan’s face, Kinch glared. “I’m not all that fond of Klink, but I don’t think he deserves what Adler’s doing to him, and I don’t think you ought to leave him to the wolves because _you_ don’t think he fought hard enough.”

Hogan gave him a long, measured look. “Are you finished?”

Kinch paused before backing up and drawing himself into an at attention stance. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sounding remarkably unrepentant, “I just wanted you to see what could be at stake here.” He shrugged, the amiable gesture belied by the tenseness of it. “You’re my commander, and I’ll do whatever you order me to—if this is the last time you want to talk about this, it’s the last time I’ll bring it up. Whatever happens now is up to you; all I ask is that you _think_ about it.”

Hogan considered Kinch and allowed himself to relax. Being preached to was never something he enjoyed, but he was grateful Kinch was being honest with him. It was clear he believed wholeheartedly in what he was saying, that he thought it was important for him to know. Even when Hogan didn’t agree with the man’s opinion, he still valued his advice. This time, he wasn’t sure whether he actually _didn’t_ agree; he needed a bit more information before he could make that call.

If nothing else, Kinch had given him a lot of things to think about. That wouldn’t make for a particularly restful night, but anything that could possibly help him when it came to dealing with Klink tomorrow was welcome. “Kinch, I don’t know if you’re right or not, but I promise I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

Kinch’s stance became more at ease, and he smiled a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Hogan nodded and clapped his hands. “Now that’s taken care of, I need your help.”

“For what, sir?” Kinch asked warily.

He grinned and threw an arm around Kinch’s shoulder. “You can help me figure out what to tell Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter tomorrow.”


	18. Devil's Plaything

“Turn over; let me look at you.”

If he never had to look at that man again, Klink thought he could die happily. Of course, that wasn’t a choice he got to make, and he knew it. So, why drag this out? Why not just turn over and get it over with. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind away from the horrified shame, as he tried to see if he _could_ turn over. Adler had been very … enthusiastic, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out how it would feel to put pressure on his abused backside.

But, again, that wasn’t a choice he got to make.

Slowly, he eased himself onto his side, away from where Adler was laying, and twisted his head back to make sure there was enough bed left for him to roll onto. It wasn’t a long way to the floor, but he felt humiliated and in enough pain as it was without falling off the bed, too. Once he was certain there was enough room, he let himself fall. Pain arced through him, and he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Are you all right, Wilhelm?”

 _Why does he even bother trying to sound concerned?_ Klink stared up into Adler’s face as the other man leaned over him and did his best not to show his irritation. His anger. “I’m fine.” Despite his efforts to hide it, his voice betrayed the strain he felt.

Adler’s mouth turned upwards. “Oh, good.” His fingers began tracing lazy circles over Klink’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to be so rough with you, but it was your own fault, after all.”

Klink shuddered at the accusation and the too cool air chilling his sweat slicked skin. He couldn’t argue with that: it was his fault. It was his fault for thinking his life was worth all this. He was starting to think maybe, just maybe, he’d been wrong about that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been wrong about something, would it?

But, if he let himself believe that… 

No, he couldn’t let himself believe he was enduring all this for nothing. It was that simple. If he could just get through this, if he could somehow outlast Adler, then maybe there was a chance that … 

… that his life might hold some value again.

“Now, it’s time we discuss your punishment,” Adler said airily, as if the subject of the discussion was something as innocuous as the weather. “I find that punishments work best when the one being punished knows what he’s being punished for.” The fingers stopped tracing mid-circle. “What am I punishing you for?”

That was something Klink had asked himself many times since this whole thing had started, but he knew Adler wasn’t talking about what he’d just finished doing. But how could he answer that question? He didn’t dare to tell the truth—he didn’t think Adler would actually kill him for planning that fiasco (where would the fun in _that_ be?), but he doubted he’d be very forgiving—and at the same time, he wasn’t sure if Adler would accept a lie either—the man had seemed very convinced Klink had had something to do with the escape earlier.

He had to say something though. The tightening around Adler’s mouth warned him he was running out of time. Maybe he should plead ignorance. That had gotten him out of some tight spots in the past. “I don’t know,” he answered at last, choosing to ignore the fact that this tactic had also gotten him _into_ some tight spots as well.

Adler hmmed in a disbelieving way, but his fingers resumed their tracing. “Well, Wilhelm, what was our agreement?”

Klink closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the hateful words echoing in his skull clearly, as though Adler were actually saying them now. “That you would turn me in to the Gestapo unless I,” he swallowed hard as his throat tightened up. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “You wanted me to … submit to you.”

“Exactly right,” Adler sounded pleased, “and do you know what that means?”

These games. All of these damned games! Not only did he have to let himself be violated by this swine, he had to jump through all of these hoops as well. It was like being in a play: he had a script, and he had to follow it exactly or the director would scream at him. Or in this case, slap him across the face. And it was a part he didn’t dare to turn down. Unfortunately, he was almost certain what his line was now, and he was loath to have to say it.

He didn’t want to say it because, as far as he could see right now, it was dishearteningly true.

“You o-own me.”

Adler nodded with satisfaction. “Right again.” He leaned closer and gave Klink a light kiss. “Now, next time a prisoner escapes when you’re supposed to be with me, what will you do?”

Klink stared sightlessly passed Adler’s head as his mind raced. What should he have done? Besides knowing better than to think his scheme would work in the first place. While he was relieved that, from the sound of things, Adler had abandoned the notion Klink had planned anything, he realized if he didn’t come up with an answer soon, there would be nothing to be relieved about.

He’d been just about to open his mouth when he abruptly ran out of time.

Adler took hold of one of Klink’s nipples, giving it a savage twist, and brought his rage filled face so close to Klink’s own that Klink could feel the spittle coming from Adler’s mouth. “You’ll stay here! You’ll send someone else!” He twisted some more, and Klink couldn’t keep from gasping in pain. “Do you understand me!”

Klink’s hands clawed into the mattress because he knew trying to get Adler to release him before he was ready wouldn’t end well for him. “Yes!” he exclaimed, somewhat desperately, “I understand!”

That same smile Klink had grown to despise before he’d known what Adler was capable of softened his harsh expression, and he let go. “Very good.” He sat up and out of Klink’s direct line of sight. “Now that you know what you’ve done wrong, it’s time for your punishment.” The tone seemed very out of step with the words: pleasant with only a barest trace of the cruel enjoyment that shown in his expression when Klink turned his head to look. “Are you ready, Wilhelm?”

There was a part of Klink that worried what new horror Adler planned to unleash on him. There was a part of him that knew with certainty he deserved whatever the punishment was: not for the same reason Adler thought, naturally, but for being such a deranged, deviant, pervert. The majority of him didn’t care _what_ was in store for him as long as it was over quickly. Anything to get this night over with and Adler out of his bedroom! Klink nodded wearily.

He felt the mattress move as Adler got off the bed. “Then get up so we can get started.”

It was easier demanded than done. With agonizing slowness, Klink came to stand beside the bed, swaying slightly. Terror coiled in his stomach, and he hoped he wasn’t as hurt as he felt. That it was simple over exertion that had him in such distress. Because, if that wasn’t all this was—

New sweat beaded on his forehead and collected in his clenched fists as he stared down at the floor and waited for Adler to speak.

He heard the sounds of rustling clothing and realized Adler was getting dressed. Reminded of his own nakedness, he considered reaching for the sheet to wrap around himself before deciding against it. Adler had seen everything already, and he had no interest in being undressed by him again that night. He also wasn’t sure he could turn around and pull the sheet from the bed without falling over.

“All right. Stand against the door.” Adler’s tone was terse but strangely businesslike considering the circumstances.

Klink looked up and saw Adler staring at him, his expression now revealing nothing. Tentatively, certain he would fall any moment, he lurched over to the door. He’d just started to turn to lean his back against it when Adler grabbed his shoulders.

“Put your hands up,” Adler ordered, “and brace yourself.”

Doing so, Klink started shivering. Mostly from the chill in the air. He was usually asleep before the fire burned down. Maybe, when Adler left, he’d stoke it up again. After he showered. Had to have his priorities strai—

He heard the crack of something striking his back a split second before he felt the sting. Surprise at the unexpected hit froze his throat and kept him silent.

“One,” Adler intoned.

By the time Adler had reached three, Klink realized that he was probably being hit with a belt.

By the time Adler had reached five, he more or less gave up on trying to hide his reactions.

By the time Adler had reached ten, Klink could taste salt as tears dripped passed his mouth.

He sagged and sudden hands on his shoulders kept him from falling to the floor. Adler turned him around and held him in a light embrace. “There now,” he said with a gentleness Klink would later find repellent as he brought one of his hands up to Klink’s face and smeared the tear tracks under his eyes. “It’s finished.”

Klink noted, in a detached sort of way, that he was being led back to the bed. He winced as Adler sat him down but didn’t really feel it. He realized, in the same removed sort of way, that he was in shock. Not from the pain—although, he knew he’d feel it later—but from simple disbelief. (Vaguely, he was aware of Adler sitting next to him and wrapping his arm around his shoulders.) It had been years, decades!, since he’d been hit with a belt—as a misbehaving youth—and he just couldn’t quite believe Adler had actually done it. (Adler’s other hand took hold of Klink’s chin as he leaned in close.) Cotton clouded his brain as he tried to comprehend the fact that he’d just been whipped. 

Adler’s tongue in his mouth brought him back to himself with amazing quickness, and he remembered just in time what a mistake it would be to pull back. Disgust churned in his stomach, and he prayed it would stay where it was. After the many betrayals his body had handed him, he was determined at least to have control over when the contents of his stomach reappeared.

 _Control?_ Fresh tears welled in his eyes, and he let them join the wetness already on his cheeks. If only he’d had any control of the parts that mattered! Adler’s touch made him want to peel off his skin—how could he have enjoyed any of this?

Breaking the kiss, Adler leaned back but kept hold of Klink’s chin. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson?”

Absolutely. He’d never entertain any wild hopes ever again. He should have known better than to think it could work. “Yes.”

“Good, because I do hate to have to hurt you like this, Wilhelm,” Adler actually did sound a little regretful, and Klink almost marveled at the deception. “I wouldn’t want to break you.”

 _Well, thank God for that!_ Klink thought with almost giddy hysteria. _Thank God that General Adler is so concerned for my welfare!_ “Why would you care?” Even before the words formed, he’d known it was a bad idea to ask, but, between the hysteria and his natural tendency to put his foot in his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself in time.

The wide grin he received stabbed through the giddiness. “When I was a boy, my father always told me that I must take good care of my things if I want them to last.” He trailed a finger down Klink’s face. “I would like to keep you around a long time, so I must take care of you.” A light kiss and then his grin became something much more sinister. “I’m sure you’d agree that broken toys aren’t as much fun to play with.”

Klink was genuinely sorry he’d asked. He’d known Adler hadn’t thought much of him—that Adler had forced him into this deal in the first place had told him that much—but to hear that Adler considered him to be little more than a plaything? At least a whore or a slave was still a person! And he couldn’t decide which part he liked the least: that Adler had, basically, called him a toy or that Adler had claimed to want to ‘keep him’ for a ‘long time.’ When was this nightmare going to end? Was it ever going to? The only hope he’d had was that Adler would lose interest in him and foist his sick desires on someone else… 

Perhaps that hope was too wild to entertain as well.

“Don’t mistake me,” Adler said sharply, dragging Klink’s attention back to the matter at hand, “I _will_ hurt you if you force me to.” He stood and glared down at him, his eyes filled with dark promise. “Next time you keep me waiting like you did tonight, I will give you more than ten,” he held the belt out in front of him like a snake, the buckle draped over his closed hand, “and I’ll use _this_ side.”

Klink’s mouth had gone dry, and he swallowed back bile as he watched Adler put on his belt. There was no one he could turn to if Adler followed through on this threat (and Klink had no reason to believe he wouldn’t). He couldn’t go to a doctor because he could never explain how he’d come by his injuries. He had no close family to go to for help, and even if he had, he wouldn’t want them to learn what he’d become. Whatever injuries he sustained, he’d have to treat himself.

“Do you understand me?”

Crushing loneliness enveloped him, and it took an effort to force the word ‘yes’ out of his throat. He was alone in this. Of course, he’d already known this fact—he wasn’t about to tell anyone, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t risk telling the wrong person. Risk exposure. But the full weight of the reality pressed in on him, and he felt as though his chest was caving in. The only one he could depend on was himself, and he wasn’t feeling very dependable just now.

“You better go to bed, Wilhelm,” Adler said, trying for soothing and not quite hitting it. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” Gently, he pushed Klink down onto his back—if he noticed Klink’s wince, he didn’t show it—and pulled the covers over him. “Goodnight.”

Klink lay there for several long minutes after he heard his bedroom door shut. He was mentally exhausted, pained, and his body cried out for sleep, but he knew he couldn’t sleep here. He’d been lucky so far not to have any nightmares; he couldn’t imagine he’d manage to escape them tonight if he stayed in this bed. Besides, thanks to his traitorous body and his deranged mind, his arm was laying in a wet spot.

His second trip to the side of the bed was no easier than the first, and he wondered again if Adler hadn’t managed to ‘break’ him after all. If he didn’t feel any better by tomorrow—

 _I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,_ he told himself firmly. Right now, he had to take a shower and try to get some of this, this filth off of him. Soap couldn’t cleanse his soul and had no power to correct whatever defect had allowed him to enjoy Adler’s touch, but soap just might get the feel of Adler’s hands off his skin if he scrubbed hard enough.

* * *

He’d stayed in the shower until his teeth started to chatter after the hot water had run out. He’d brushed his teeth until he’d tasted blood. His skin, rubbed raw in the shower, chaffed inside his pajamas. Weaving unsteadily between the living room and his bedroom, he’d made the couch up. The sheets, he’d left on the bed. Stoking the stove had been an agony, but he’d felt so cold, even with his dressing gown, that he’d been willing to endure it for the warmth.

On the couch, he lay awkwardly on his stomach and closed his eyes. As his mind drifted away into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something important he’d forgotten to do.


	19. Sometime in the Morning

“He’s not coming.”

Schultz wasn’t sure which of the guards standing with him had mumbled this, but he couldn’t argue with the statement. The Big Shot always seemed to enjoy Roll Call (at least, he enjoyed it when all the prisoners were accounted for), and he was hardly ever late. One thing that could be said for the man was that he was nothing if not punctual. And if he wasn’t here by now—

Surreptitiously, he snuck another glance at his watch. Then he looked again. Fifty minutes late now. Very odd.

“Maybe you should see what’s keeping him,” Corporal Ruf suggested in a low voice. “The prisoners are getting restless.”

Another statement Schultz couldn’t argue with. While the morning was fairly mild, it was hardly balmy. Some of the prisoners were starting to move around and speak amongst themselves in gradually rising, dissatisfied, voices. Others had actually taken seats on the steps of the Barracks. From where he stood, Schultz could see that a few of them were quietly scraping up old snow to make snow balls.

 _No way_ that _can end well._ It would probably be best to get Roll over with before the prisoners did something _everyone_ would regret. And seeing as the Kommandant was almost an hour late already, maybe it was time to let the prisoners disband. Everyone had been accounted for, and if Klink really wanted to address them this morning, it wouldn’t be too difficult to round the prisoners up again.

Besides, the longer this went on, the longer he went without breakfast.

“Dismiss them,” he ordered the Corporal. “I’ll go and inform Colonel Klink.”

Ruf saluted and Schultz returned it before making his way to the Office Building. Once inside, he smiled at Klink’s lovely secretary. “Good morning, Fraulein.”

She smiled back, revealing many of her perfect teeth. That was something else he could give Klink: he had good taste in secretaries. “Good morning, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

 _Anything you’d like,_ Schultz thought before reminding himself he was both married and almost old enough to be the young lady’s father. And anyway, as fun as some harmless flirtation could be, he was here for an important reason: breakfast. “Have you seen the Big Shot? He’s missed Roll Call.”

Hilda stood, frowning. “No, I haven’t. He could be in his office.” She walked passed her desk towards the office. “Just let me check.” Knocking, she opened the door slightly. “Sir?”

Swinging it open the rest of the way, she turned back to Schultz with a slightly worried expression. “He’s not here. Maybe he’s sick … he did tell me the other day that he wasn’t feeling well.”

A fine explanation, as far as it went. However, in Schultz’s experience, if the Colonel wasn’t feeling well, he usually let everyone know about it. Repeatedly. Then again, recalling the way he had been acting the night before, maybe he _was_ sick. It would certainly explain why he’d been more irritable than usual. Klink was always a bit high strung, but last night had been strange, even for him.

“Are you going to look for him in his quarters?”

He regarded Hilda with a little confusion. Why was she so concerned? Did she know something he didn’t? “I suppose I’ll have to.” He strode over to Klink’s quarters and didn’t bother knocking. There really wasn’t any point to it: if the Kommandant was asleep in his bedroom, then he wouldn’t be able to hear it, and if he was in the living room, well, there wouldn’t be anything that Schultz had to worry about interrupting.

At least, he _hoped_ that would be true. Especially since, for whatever reason, Fraulein Hilda was trailing him. Again, he wondered why she was so concerned, but he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business, and he was very good at minding his own business. _Better off not knowing,_ he decided.

Schultz stopped short after opening the door. Was there someone on the couch? Pressing the light switch on the wall confirmed this, and his brow furrowed as he realized the figure sleeping there was Colonel Klink himself. As for why he would be sleeping there rather than in his bed, Schultz didn’t hazard a guess. He didn’t need to know; he didn’t _want_ to know.

He was a bit annoyed though. It just wasn’t fair: bad enough he had to deal with Colonel Hogan’s monkey shines and unpredictably bizarre behavior; it hardly seemed right that the Big Shot was getting in on it, too! At the very least the man could have the decency to wait until the weekend rather than do this in the middle of the week.

Brusquely, he stalked over to the couch. “Kommandant?”

Klink groaned but showed no sign of wakefulness.

“Kommandant!”

When this proved to be no more successful than the first attempt, Schultz bit back a sigh and put his hand on Klink’s shoulder, intending to shake him. He was unprepared for what happened next.

Klink awoke with a startled gasp, pulling away from Schultz and shooting up into a sit. Immediately, his face paled, turning the color of chalk, and he fell back against the couch with a pained cry. Then, scrambling, he pushed himself back into the cushions and stared at Schultz with wide, terror filled eyes. For several long seconds, the only sound in the room was his harsh, panicked breathing.

While Schultz was rooted to the spot with shock and surprise, Hilda recovered more quickly. Within moments, she had come forward, blocking Schultz’s view of the Kommandant, and had begun speaking in soft tones. When asking him what was wrong didn’t receive an answer, she assured him that everything was all right: that it was just she and Sergeant Schultz.

Finally, Klink spoke, sounding overwhelmed and strained. “I, I think I’m all right now. Please, just, just give me some room.”

Hilda stepped back, affording the stunned Sergeant Schultz a view of Klink’s face. He didn’t look any better than he’d sounded. Pale and shaking, he barely looked like himself at all. “Wha-what’s going on, Sergeant?”

For a moment, Schultz could only stare with his mouth agape. What on earth had _that_ been about? In all the time he’d known the Big Shot, he had _never_ seen him like that: terrified beyond reason. Even though he and Klink were hardly anything like friends, the sight disturbed him. It was also disturbing to be the one inspiring such terror—he’d never scared anyone so badly in his whole life.

And he hoped never to do so again.

“Sergeant, what are you here for?”

Shaking his head, Schultz forced himself to return to the matter at hand. At least Klink sounded more irritated than scared now and he’d stopped shaking. Even if he wasn’t looking him in the eye. “You missed Roll Call, sir.”

Klink grimaced. “Oh. Well, are they all here?”

Schultz nodded quickly, glad to have some good news to give him. “Yes, sir. All accounted for. Everyone in their place. No extra. No—”

“I get it, Schultz,” Klink interrupted, his annoyance plain. He rubbed his head and seemed to be thinking over something. “All right. Until further notice, conduct the Rolls yourself and report to me when you finish... I’m sure you can handle _that_ much.”

To be honest, Schultz wasn’t sure what to make of either the order or the tone. Granted, he was used to being insulted by the Big Shot, but it seemed almost as though the man was going out of his way to be insulting. But why would he bother to do such a thing? Besides that, he’d thought Klink _liked_ Roll Call. “But, sir—”

The Kommandant held up a weary hand. “Don’t argue with me, please. I know it’s not exactly regulation, but I...” he trailed off and shook his head, his weariness replaced once more with irritation. “Just do it, Dummkopf!”

Schultz snapped to attention. “Yessir.” Very moody this morning, wasn’t he? Well, he was the Kommandant, and if he wanted to break the rules, that was _his_ business. And if he wanted to be moody, Schultz supposed that was his business too.

A curt salute. “Dismissed.” Then, before Schultz had a chance to do much more than return the salute, he spoke again. “Oh, and get me something from the mess, will you? But nothing too greasy.”

Not for the first time, Schultz asked himself why Klink didn’t just hire someone to take care of these things. As a guard, this wasn’t really his job. Still, getting the Kommandant’s breakfast _did_ mean he’d be that much closer to getting his own. Maybe he could even get a little something for himself first. “Yessir!”

His answer must have betrayed his enthusiasm because Klink continued in a snide tone: “And I’d like to get it _before_ you stuff your face.”

 _Spoil sport._ “Yessir.” Even as he grumbled about the injustice under his breath as soon as he was out in the compound, he couldn’t quite push out of his mind the memory of Klink’s fit.

Or ignore the fact that, the whole time they’d been speaking, the fear had never quite left Klink’s eyes.


	20. Another Link in the Chain

By the time he’d gotten dressed (doing his best to quell the sudden panic being in his bedroom had caused) and had choked down a meager breakfast, Klink had more or less recovered from his abrupt awakening. Though still jittery and tense, he barely registered those feelings as anything unusual. They seemed almost normal to him now.

It was strange, and sad, how quickly his perception of ‘normal’ had changed. What seemed sadder was that he almost hadn’t noticed.

As he lurched across the floor of the living room, he wondered—not the least bit sarcastically— how many more times he could take Adler’s … attentions before he wasn’t able to walk at all. Maybe Adler would wind up breaking his toy despite his ‘care’. The knowledge there wasn’t much he could do if Adler hurt him that badly was not pleasant.

It also wasn’t pleasant to know there was little he could do to hide his condition in the meantime. Yesterday, he didn’t think that anyone had noticed his slight limp. Today, he didn’t think anyone would be able to miss it. But what could he do except avoid walking in front of other people? 

While he intended to try doing so, he couldn’t imagine he’d be able to pull it off for an entire day. Someone would have to see him walk eventually. With his bad luck lately, he couldn’t see how it could possibly be otherwise. Klink had no idea what he’d say if anyone actually cared enough to ask what was wrong with him.

Stepping into his office, he saw Hilda had placed yet another small stack of papers on his desk. He shook his head, feeling something akin to amusement. No matter what problems he was having, the camp business didn’t stop with him. With as much paperwork running this place created, he sometimes thought he’d still be filing reports to Berlin a decade after the war ended.

Usually, he didn’t mind too much—paperwork could be boring at times but no one ever died from boredom. Even if a man _could_ die from boredom, with Colonel Hogan and all the other craziness that cropped up with disturbing frequency to contend with, boredom was a scarce commodity at Stalag 13. Sometimes, he wished for boredom!

However, as boring as the paperwork could be, it did require a certain amount of focus. Frankly, he did not feel up to the work, even if it _was_ just filling out forms and reports. But he knew he couldn’t afford to let himself fall any further behind. Berlin didn’t take much notice of him as long as his reports were on time and in triplicate, and he wasn’t interested in getting their attention by being late with them. Scattered as his thoughts were, he would simply have to muddle through it somehow.

The alternative was an annoyed Berlin and more scrutiny than he wanted to deal with.

He eased himself down into his chair but couldn’t hold back a curse. Worry mingled with frustration as he attempted to find a more comfortable position. It felt worse than it had yesterday, and he wondered how exactly he was supposed to do his job if he was having trouble just sitting. Too bad what was in his medicine cabinet wasn’t quite up to the task of taking care of pain like this!

Klink’s eyes came to rest on the bottle of Schnapps he’d left on the corner of the desk the night before. Maybe a little something for medicinal purposes? He started to reach for it but stopped well short of the bottle. That would be such a bad idea—what was he thinking of?

Sure, a drink or two might make him feel better, might make the pain a little more bearable, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself once he started. Being completely incapacitated would not be the least bit helpful—it certainly wouldn’t help him complete any reports for one thing!

No, it probably wasn’t a good idea to put himself to the test like that. As he’d proved time and time again with Adler, his self control was practically nonexistent these days. The fact of the matter was he simply couldn’t trust himself anymore. He wondered if he’d ever be able to trust himself again.

Tears dripped down his face, and he pulled out his handkerchief wearily. There he went again. He hadn’t cried this much since he was a child, and if he remembered correctly, he hadn’t even cried this much then. So, why was he crying now? Most people didn’t just suddenly burst into tears for no reason. Of course, he was sure most people didn’t enjoy things that sickened them either. His behavior with Adler the last two nights was all the proof he needed that there was something seriously wrong with him.

Taking out his monocle and setting it on the desk, he set to wiping his face. At least it never lasted very long before he calmed. Although, honestly, his feelings hadn’t changed from when he’d started to now: he still felt disgusted and despairing of himself.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings, and he quickly finished wiping away the wetness around his eyes. So far, he’d cried in front of Colonel Hogan and General Adler. He had no wish to make that list any longer.

Hilda peeked at him through a slightly opened door just as Klink put his monocle back in. “Sir, General Adler is here to see you.”

Klink noted the concern in her expression and worried for a moment he hadn’t managed to get rid of all the evidence of his crying fit. Only for a moment though, because having to deal with Adler made him much more anxious than the thought of someone knowing he’d just been blubbering. “All right,” he said at last, fighting to sound calm and collected, “you can send him in.”

As he had every time he’d come since two days ago, Adler locked the door once Hilda had left before turning his attention to Klink. He frowned slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to have to have this conversation every time I come to see you, Colonel?”

It took Klink a moment to realize what Adler was talking about. Once he did, he came to his feet and saluted.

“Better,” Adler said as he started to walk around the office. “I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you—just because I find you an entertaining bed partner, it doesn’t mean that I’ll continue to put up with this sloppiness.” He looked out of the window before closing the curtain more securely. “Is that understood?”

Anger and shame brought heat to Klink’s face, but he struggled to keep them from his voice. “I understand.”

Adler nodded and started walking again. “I did some thinking last night while you were gone, and I came up with a prima idea.” He stopped to look at the pictures Klink had hung on the wall. “So, I made some calls.”

That sounded ominous. “Who—?”

“Just to my superiors in Berlin,” he said, turning to give Klink a smile. “They seemed amenable to my idea and were willing to let me give it a try—after all, we and the Luftwaffe don’t always get along as well as we should.”

That sounded even more ominous. “What do you mean?” Klink slowly lowered his hand and prayed the inkling of a suspicion he had was wrong.

The smirk that Adler sent his way made the nervous butterflies in his stomach transform into wasps. “I mean, if all goes well and I am able to convince Burkhalter to let you go, in a week’s time, you’ll be acting as the Luftwaffe’s attaché in Berlin.” His smirk turned into a predatory grin. “And as a member of my staff.”

Klink watched Adler take a seat in the other chair and felt like he was drowning in quicksand. It was all happening too fast, and the possibility that Adler might try something like this had never occurred to him. In the back of his mind, Klink had always had the small comfort of knowing Adler could not stay indefinitely.

That wouldn’t be the end of Klink’s troubles—there was nothing to stop Adler from dropping by from time to time—, but there was a chance of a reprieve. Some time to heal. Some time to recover himself.

If Adler succeeded in his plan...

And he couldn’t even delude himself and believe for a moment that there was any way Adler wouldn’t be able to do as he wanted. As impressive as Klink’s record was (and it _was_ impressive), General Burkhalter had never bothered to hide his contempt for him. He’d probably jump at the chance to transfer Klink somewhere else. He probably would sign the papers with a grin on his fat face.

While Klink’s record had kept Burkhalter from sending him to the Russian front (as he’d threatened on many occasions), it would not keep the man from transferring him to Berlin. Of the two, Klink thought the Russian front was sounding better all the time.

Adler’s grin softened, and he set his hands on his knees. “Come here, Colonel.”

Between his unwillingness and the soreness in his backside, Klink’s progress from behind the desk was slow. He lurched across the floor, trying his absolute hardest not to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he was in.

Adler met him halfway and eyed him with something like concern. “Are you in much pain?”

 _Why?_ Klink thought venomously. _Afraid you’ve already broken your toy?_ “A bit,” he admitted, not because he believed Adler actually cared but because he had no desire to be hit for not answering.

“Where does it hurt?” Adler asked, stepping behind Klink. Before Klink could answer, Adler hit him hard in the middle of his back. “Here?” Again, without giving Klink a chance to say, he hit him again, this time on the rear. “Or here?”

Klink squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Both.”

Opening his eyes, he saw Adler had come to stand in front of him once more. He was shaking his head in a disturbingly parental manner. “Well, Colonel, if you hadn’t made me angry last night, I wouldn’t have had to whip you. As for the other,” he smiled a bit, “you need to start relaxing. It doesn’t matter how gentle I am if you won’t relax.”

As if being … as if anything about what Adler did to him was relaxing. Adler reached out his hand, and Klink shied away from the touch, not wanting to feel the other man on his skin. Not when his thoughts were being pulled back to the night before.

A frown greeted this action, and Adler put his arm around Klink’s waist to pull him back. “You also need to know when to be still, Colonel.” 

Klink forced himself not to move away from the fingers as they trailed down his face. This wasn’t the worst Adler could do, but Klink hated the pretense of gentleness. He hated the way Adler seemed to be trying to make this something it wasn’t.

“You seem tense,” Adler observed, laying his hand flat on Klink’s cheek. “Are you afraid of me?”

 _Afraid?_ Klink almost smiled. Afraid? No, he was a very long way from merely afraid: he was terrified. And in imminent danger of being sick. However, he’d long since decided it was not a good idea to be so honest with Adler when he asked these sorts of questions. “Yes.”

“‘Yes’ what? Be precise.”

Always with these games! Weariness warred with irritation and won easily. “Yes, I’m afraid.”

Adler smiled in what was clearly supposed to be a comforting way. “There’s no reason to be afraid as long as you remember your place. I know this is hard for you, but it _will_ get easier.” He kissed Klink deeply and wrapped both his arms around Klink’s back. “You just need to stop fighting me.”

Stop fighting him? Klink wished he was brave enough to start!

“You’ll enjoy being in Berlin,” Adler continued on blithely, grinning as his hands trailed down passed Klink’s hips. “It will be a big change for you, but if you can manage to behave yourself, it could be a very rewarding one as well.” He chuckled softly. “I heard a lot about you from your contemporaries before I came here.”

Klink could just imagine, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to stop himself. “What did you hear?”

“Oh, many things: that you talk too much; that you’re a fool; that you’re the oldest Colonel this side of Dusseldorf.” Adler was still grinning even as his expression became wicked. “I also heard that you’ve been trying to increase your rank for the longest time. It’s quite the joke to them.”

Nothing that was exactly a surprise, but it stung none the less. Especially hearing it all from someone who sounded so amused by the whole thing. 

Adler wasn’t quite finished yet. “Yes, from what I understand, before your posting here at Stalag 13, you never managed to do anything that wasn’t just better than abysmal. I can certainly understand why they said you’d do just about anything to become a general.”

His grin twisted into a leer, and Klink struggled to keep himself from moving away from it. “I could make that happen for you. If...”

Bile rose in Klink’s throat as Adler pressed himself closer, letting him feel how much the swine was ‘enjoying’ this conversation. “I-if?” he stuttered, helpless to do anything but parrot. “If what?”

“If you make it worth my while,” Adler purred, his hands coming to rest on Klink’s backside.

Klink couldn’t deny that it was true: he did want to be a general, and very badly, for just the reason Adler had said. His career had always been something of a disappointment, and he’d always thought, if he could just make general, he could finally feel as though he hadn’t been wasting his time. As though he’d managed to do something worthwhile with his life.

But Adler was also very wrong. As badly as Klink wanted to be general, he didn’t want it badly enough to sign up for a combat post. He didn’t want it badly enough to marry Frau Linkmeyer. He didn’t want it badly enough to go to Berlin with General Adler.

And he _certainly_ didn’t want it badly enough to go to Berlin with General Adler and ‘make it worth his while’. How could he possibly be proud of the promotion with the knowledge he’d gotten it by being Adler’s whore? Being Adler’s toy was not an accomplishment to be proud of!

Even though Klink knew it wouldn’t do any good, that nothing he said or did now would make the slightest difference in Adler’s plans, his rising desperation would not allow him to give in without a protest. Even if he was wasting his time, he still had to make at least an attempt to save himself. He took a steadying breath and tried to ignore what Adler’s hands were doing to his rump.

“General, I … Ican’tgotoBerlin.”

Adler’s hands stopped moving, and his face became suddenly expressionless. When he spoke, his tone was dangerously calm. “What was that, Colonel? It almost sounded like you just told me you couldn’t go to Berlin.” 

Klink wet his lips and swallowed hard to dislodge the lump forming in his throat. It would be so easy to pretend he’d said something else, to back down. Maybe Adler would even let him get away with it. But he just couldn’t. Even if it wouldn’t help, he had to try! “That’s what I said, General.”

Tilting his head, Adler regarded him for several long seconds, his gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. Then, he stepped back, letting his hands fall away from Klink’s body, and smiled. The smile was as cold as his eyes. “Would you care to explain _why_ you can’t go to Berlin?”

The iciness of that smile chilled Klink to the core, but he had to finish what he’d started. He’d already put one foot in, and Adler would not let him take it out now. It was far too late for that. “Because I...” There were a lot of ways Klink could finish that statement. However, he figured odds were he was in enough trouble as it was without being so truthful. But he had to say something. There had to be something he could use! There had to be—

That was it!

“Because I’m needed here.” He smiled, not quite able to hide his relief that he’d thought of something which had nothing to do with Adler to bolster his case. “My work here is very important. Why, without me, General, this whole camp would fall apart in days! Escapes left and right—you have no idea what a mess this place was before I arrived. So, you see, I have to sta—”

Klink’s mind had been so busy trying to keep up with his mouth, he hadn’t realized what Adler had been planning to do until after Adler had punched him in the stomach.

Air burst from his mouth in an agonizing whoosh, and he fell to the floor, too pained and surprised to catch himself. As he lay there, futilely trying to coax his lungs into taking a breath, he was vaguely aware of Adler coming to stand over him.

“I see,” Adler sneered with a low growl, “that you still haven’t learned your lesson.” Roughly, he grabbed Klink under his arms and pulled him up before slamming him against the wall. Pictures fell to the floor, and Klink heard breaking glass, but he had other things to worry about. “How many times, Klink!” As Adler spoke, he shook him violently. “How many times do we have to do this before you get it into your head that I own you!”

Sparkles danced in front of Klink’s eyes every time his head made contact with the paneling. “Pl-please—” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, and he didn’t get a chance to decide before Adler silenced him with a savage slap across the face. Klink sagged, but Adler took hold of his shoulders and forced him back against the wall.

 _At least he isn’t shaking me anymore,_ Klink noted dully. Had to be thankful for the small mercies; they were the only ones he seemed to get anymore. He stared up at Adler, Adler’s face too close for him to focus on any features. However, there was no mistaking the rage in the other man’s voice when he started speaking again.

“It’s not your choice to make, Klink. I am the one who decides what’s going to happen now. I am the one who gets to make that choice. I own you!” His hold on Klink’s shoulders tightened, his fingers digging into Klink’s flesh even through his jacket and shirt. “Now, say it!”

“You,” Klink swallowed down his revulsion and terror as best he could, “you own me.”

“That’s right,” Adler snapped, not sounding the least bit pleased with receiving the correct response. He let go of Klink abruptly, as though he’d just been holding onto a sack of garbage, and turned away. “So, if I decide to take you to Berlin, you will just have to make the best of it. Is that understood?”

Klink swayed without Adler’s support but somehow managed to remain upright. Dazed from the pain, dizzy from the way his vision swam, and still trying to catch his breath, he’d lost what fight he’d had in him. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes in defeat. He understood. He’d tried, and just as he’d expected, he’d failed. Again. In fact, all he’d done was make it worse for himself. Brilliant planning there.

His eyes snapped open, and he jerked away from the gentle touch to his cheek. Narrowly avoiding hitting his head again, he saw Adler was smiling at him, his anger replaced with something that was supposed to convey sympathetic understanding but really conveyed something closer to wicked amusement. “Is staying here truly so important to you?”

A less cynical man, a man who had never had any dealings with Adler, might have allowed himself to hope. Klink knew better. Whatever this new game was about, it was just that: a game. Adler wasn’t going to let himself be persuaded; he just wanted to play. Klink nodded only because he wanted this encounter to end as soon as possible.

Adler’s smile turned crafty, telling Klink that his cynicism had been justified. “Then show me how much you’d like to stay.”

Klink blinked, feeling too sluggish to immediately figure out the rules. “What?”

“Show me how much you’d like to stay,” Adler repeated, throwing his arms open wide as though offering a hug. “Perhaps, if you’re very _nice_ to me, I’ll reconsider.”

There was no need to ask what Adler meant now; his hungry expression made that much abundantly clear. It was also clear to Klink it wouldn’t matter how ‘nice’ he was to Adler. There was no way Adler was going to change his mind. Not when he’d been so violently insistent, not two minutes before, that Klink accompany him.

Seeing as this was just another game, Klink knew better than to think he had a choice about playing. With a shiver of resigned disgust, he limped towards Adler. He was about a foot from the man when he stumbled over his own feet.

Catching him neatly, Adler wrapped his arms around Klink in a light embrace. “Yes, you really do need to start relaxing, Colonel. You only hurt yourself when you don’t.” He chuckled. “And I wouldn’t want you to wear out.”

 _As though I don’t feel worn out already._ Not letting himself dwell on the thought, Klink forced himself back to the matter at hand. Recalling how badly this had gone last night, he gave himself a silent pep-talk, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach.

It was just a kiss. No, it wouldn’t even be a kiss. All it would be was skin touching skin. Just skin and spit. Just a mouth touching another mouth—

He shuddered. Somehow, thinking of himself as a disembodied mouth only made it seem even more disgusting.

All right. He could do this. And more importantly, he could do this without vomiting. All he had to do was pretend this situation wasn’t what it was. That he wasn’t being forced to kiss someone and that the someone he was kissing wasn’t Adler. All he had to do was think of someone else, and he could do it.

Klink wasn’t sure who to think of, and he realized, seeing Adler’s expression becoming impatient, that he didn’t have time to work it out. He’d just have to, what was that phrase?, wing it. Before Adler could force his hand, he brought his face closer to Adler’s and closed his eyes just before their lips met.

Almost immediately, Klink’s plan ran into a snag. His imagination simply wasn’t good enough for him to pretend it was a woman who had him so securely pinned. Never mind the impossible to ignore sensation of an erection pressing into his hip! He couldn’t do it, and he’d have to suffer the consequences because, if he was certain of anything, he was certain Adler would not let him off so easily as he had the night before. He couldn’t kiss the man! He just couldn’t. . .

...No, he couldn’t kiss _the_ man, but maybe he could kiss _a_ man? What if the man wasn’t Adler? Could he do it then? Klink considered the idea and found himself not completely disgusted by the notion. As long as the man he was kissing wasn’t Adler, he found he could do it. This wasn’t an easy realization for him to make, and he was almost thankful he didn’t have time to examine it now.

Klink stuck his tongue in the other mouth, telling himself that it wasn’t Adler’s mouth. That the other tongue touching his wasn’t Adler’s. That the strong hands pulling him ever closer belonged to someone else. That he was kissing someone else, someone he didn’t loathe as much as Adler. Maybe even someone he actually liked. An image flashed through his mind, and Klink was so shocked, so horrified, that he pulled away from Adler’s mouth with a startled gasp.

It wasn’t possible. How could he have possibly...? With _him_? Of all people? It was one thing to pretend to kiss a man, but pretending to kiss one he actually _knew_? What was wrong with him! No, he hadn’t just imagined kissing—

“Not bad,” Adler remarked pleasantly, either not noticing or not caring about Klink’s consternation. He relaxed his grasp a bit and kissed Klink lightly on the mouth. “Not bad at all. You could use a little more practice, though.” A cruel gleam entered his eyes and his smile showed too many teeth. “Fortunately, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to practice in Berlin!”

If Klink had entertained any hope that Adler might actually let him stay at Stalag 13, he would have been furious and crushed. As it stood, he was finding it hard to feel much of anything beyond disbelief at his twisted subconscious. He’d already known there would be no chance that Adler would change his mind about the transfer.

Adler looked disappointed, probably because he’d failed to get a rise out of Klink, but he recovered quickly. “Well, Colonel, I’d love to stay and continue this conversation, but I _do_ have some arrangements to make,” he said lightly, stepping back. “I’ll be expecting you to be ready for me by 2230—be certain to clear your schedule.” He laughed at his joke and patted Klink’s unresponsive cheek. “Until tonight, Colonel.”

Klink watched wordlessly, almost sightlessly, as Adler unlocked the door and let himself out. Darkness was closing in, and Klink stumbled towards the chair, understanding, in a distant way, that he wouldn’t be standing much longer. Falling into it, he was aware of pain, but it was not enough to bring him back from the abyss he was falling into. All he could feel was sick helplessness and utter despair. What could be done now? What was left for him to try? 

Nothing. 

Nothing.

By degrees, he became aware of a sound. A voice. Calling him. But it was so far away. Much too far away to worry about.

A hand on his arm brought him violently back to himself, and he wrenched away from the touch, almost falling out of the chair in his panic.

“Kommandant!”

He recognized that voice and some of the panic drained away. Unfortunately, it was replaced with another sort of panic. What was she doing here? How long had she been here? What was going on? All of these questions were on the tip of his tongue, but he only managed to squeak out one word: “Fraulein?”

She took one step towards him but didn’t come any nearer. “Are you all right, Kommandant?”

Klink was grateful she was keeping her distance. Although he never felt quite as nervous around her as he did around the men, he felt like he’d been backed into a corner. All he wanted was a little space until he could collect himself. “I’m...” Saying he was fine would be insulting her intelligence. But there was nothing else he _could_ say. “I’m fine.” 

Hilda’s eyes narrowed in obvious disbelief. “But, sir, I called you at least five times, and you didn’t even blink! How can you say that you’re—” By this time, her voice had almost risen into a shout, and she cut herself off abruptly, perhaps sensing she might be overstepping her bounds. Her expression lost some of its fire. When she spoke again, her tone was more gentle and less frazzled. “So, you’re all right now?”

“Yes,” Klink lied, rubbing his face where Adler had slapped him. He realized, as he did so, that he’d lost his monocle during the scuffle. “I’m perfectly fine.” Carefully, making a tremendous effort to hide how difficult the maneuver actually was, he pushed himself out of the chair. A little unsteady but it could be worse. Now, if he could just find his monocle before someone stepped on it...

“Sir,” she began hesitantly, dragging his attention to her once more, “I don’t know what’s going on, and I won’t ask, but I...” She gave him a searching, pleading look, “I’d like to help if I can.”

Worry over the fact she’d realized something was wrong overtook him for a moment. Then he felt a smile curve his mouth. It was nice to know someone seemed to care even if he didn’t deserve it. And he really didn’t. While he wasn’t nearly as deranged as Adler, the last couple of days had shown him to be a deviant and a pervert in his own right. Maybe he deserved what Adler did to him for being so deficient.

“I appreciate that, Fraulein.” He turned away, unable to bear the sight of her earnest face any longer, and started for his desk. “But there really is nothing you can do.” He came to stand beside the chair and almost sat down before thinking better of it—having difficulty getting out of a chair was less strange than difficulty getting into one. Hilda didn’t deserve being made to worry any more on his account.

“Are you certain? I just want to be useful.”

Glancing at the desktop, the word ‘no’ didn’t quite reach his lips. Maybe there _was_ something she could do. With that bombshell Adler had just dropped on him, there was no way he’d be able to focus on them. And she _had_ said that she wanted to help.

“Actually, I think I may have something for you after all. I know it’s irregular, and I would normally never ask you for this, but,” he gestured at the papers, “would you mind doing these reports for me?”

Hilda came closer, a look of absolute bewilderment on her face. “Your reports?”

“You know the workings of this camp as well as I do,” he said without flattery. Hilda was a pretty girl, but that wasn’t why he’d hired her: she had a good head on her shoulders, and he had need of it now. When her confusion didn’t lift, he decided he could probably offer some compensation—this wasn’t really her job.

Besides, to not have to worry about these reports on top of everything else, he was more than willing to pay her out of his own pocket. “I’d be willing to pay you some extra this week if you could.”

She was frowning now, more thoughtful than anything. “You want me to do your paperwork?” Her frown remained a moment longer before she smiled widely. “All right, sir.” Quickly, she scooped up the papers and held them to her chest with one arm. “I’ll even sign them for you, if you want.”

Klink chuckled, feeling faintly surprised he was still able to. “I think I can manage that, Fraulein. Just try to have them finished before six, if you can.”

Hilda grinned with a mock bow. “I’ll get right on it, Kommandant.”

In a flash she was gone, leaving Klink alone with his thoughts and a mostly full bottle of liquor on his desk. He argued with himself for a short while before deciding it didn’t matter anymore. Drinking wouldn’t do anything to solve his problems, true, but at this point, he couldn’t see how doing so could possibly make things any worse than they were.

As he sat down with a wince, he also decided there was no need for a glass.


	21. A Lit Fuse Burning

Despite staying up most of the night talking to Kinch, Hogan still hadn’t decided what was the best way to broach the Klink subject with Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter. Hell, he hadn’t even decided what he truly thought about the whole thing—it would be nice to be sure of _that_ before trying to explain it!

If it weren’t for the looks he’d gotten from them in the morning, those ‘I know you’re hiding something, and I’m _going_ to find out what it is!’ kind of looks, he would have tried keeping them all in the dark until he had a chance to decide. As it was, he would tell them, but Newkirk and LeBeau would have to be curious until he sprung Carter.

If he had to have this discussion, he only wanted to have it once!

Which meant dealing with Klink. While Hogan didn’t quite believe Kinch was right about everything he’d said the night before, he could well believe he’d have to be careful when dealing with the Commandant today. Unfortunately, he was not feeling very careful.

He wasn’t sure if it was just having less sleep than usual or if it was spending so long thinking about something without figuring it out, but he was keyed up. Annoyed. The extra long Roll Call where Klink never showed only increased that feeling. Later, when General Adler beat him to the office building, his mood took another plunge.

Just what he needed: another damn delay.

“What does he want now?” Hogan asked himself aloud.

“You could always listen in and find out, sir.” When Hogan turned to face him, Kinch shrugged. “Maybe you’ll be more prepared to talk to Klink later if you know what’s happened.”

While Hogan suspected Kinch only wanted to use this as an opportunity to prove his point about Klink and Adler, he couldn’t deny the value of the suggestion. If he’d gone to Kinch yesterday, maybe he wouldn’t have been caught with his pants down. So to speak.

It turned out to be a good decision. Hogan was glad he’d followed Kinch’s suggestion when he heard Adler outline his ‘prima’ plan to get Klink transferred. Finally, something he could sink his teeth into. Finally, something he wouldn’t have to justify getting involved with. He’d been about to turn off the receiver when Kinch stopped him, putting his hand on Hogan’s arm.

“I think you should keep listening, sir.”

Hogan gave him a hard look before figuring that listening for a few more minutes wouldn’t do any harm. Maybe Kinch would even bury the dead horse he’d been beating. Crossing his arms, Hogan returned his attention back to Adler and Klink’s tinny voices. He listened with mounting disgust as Adler mentioned the activities of the night before and insisted that things would get easier once Klink stopped fighting him.

Fighting him? Hogan almost laughed in disbelief. How the hell was Klink _fighting_ him? It sure didn’t sound like Klink was doing much to fight any of this!

When Adler hinted that a generalship might be forthcoming in exchange for certain favors, Hogan decided he’d heard enough. Again, he was stopped by a serious looking Kinch, who grabbed his arm. He had glared at his Sergeant, had been about to tell the man just what he could do with his hand, when he was distracted by Klink’s sudden acquisition of a backbone.

Then he listened intently until Fraulein Hilda, after several increasingly frantic tries, finally managed to get Klink’s attention. This time, when he reached out to turn off the receiver, Kinch made no moves to stop him. Looking at Kinch, Hogan was sure the revulsion he saw there was mirrored on his own face.

Kinch shook his head. “That man makes my skin crawl.”

A sentiment Hogan couldn’t disagree with; he felt distinctly unclean from listening to that conversation. “He’s some nasty piece of work, all right.”

He stood up and brushed some imaginary dirt from his clothes as he pushed the conflicting feelings about what he’d just heard aside. There was no time for that now. “Get someone on the phones—I don’t want anyone calling out until I have a chance to figure out what we’re going to do about that transfer.”

“Do you think Burkhalter would really transfer Klink?” Kinch asked, getting to his own feet. “I know he doesn’t like him, but doesn’t he dislike the Gestapo more? I’d think he’d hate them too much to just give them something they want without a fight.”

“It’s hard to say,” Hogan said after some deliberation. “Burkhalter’s a blow hard, and he likes to throw his weight around, but I doubt he’d put up more than a token resistance for this.” Thinking it over a bit more, he shook his head with disgust. “Even if Burkhalter did want to fight it, I get the impression Adler isn’t the kind of man who gives up on something he wants easily.”

Kinch nodded. “I’ll get on the phones right away.”

“Now, remember,” Hogan reminded him with mock severity, “I need your help with the fellas once I get Carter out of the lock up. Put Baker on it.”

Smiling, Kinch saluted. “Yessir!” Then he sobered, frowning seriously. “About Colonel Klink—”

Hogan held up a hand and struggled not to let his temper get the better of him. He knew what the man was going to say, and he was in no mood to have this out with him again. Better to nip this in the bud before Kinch had a chance to gather steam. “Klink is not going to talk to me, and I wouldn’t know what to say to him if he did.”

“You could try—”

“Try what?” Turning away from the Sergeant, he picked his coat off the bunk. “I can just imagine how that conversation would go,” he said, sarcastic and moments away from saying something he knew he shouldn’t. “Hey, Commandant. Tell me: how’s the sex with Adler?” There. That was something he shouldn’t have said already!

“I don’t think that’s very funny, sir,” Kinch stated tightly, the disapproval in his tone very plain.

With a sigh, Hogan turned back to Kinch, feeling tired and annoyed with himself. That had been pretty damn tasteless of him. “I don’t really think it’s all that funny either.” He shrugged on his coat as he decided how much he wanted to share with Kinch about what was going on in his head. How much he wanted to admit.

“This isn’t easy for me, Kinch. I don’t know what to do; I don’t know what to think.” He half laughed at the understatement he was about to make. “I feel a bit in over my head here.”

Kinch’s disapproval softened a bit. “I can understand that—I’m a little overwhelmed myself,” he sounded sympathetic, although his frown deepened slightly. “But if you and I feel over our heads, you got to wonder how Klink must feel. _He’s_ the one it’s happening to, not us.” Then he shook his head and went on with a pleading expression. “Just promise me that you won’t say something like that to him if you _do_ get him to talk to you.”

Hogan wanted to be insulted Kinch would think he might do such a thing, but he couldn’t blame him for the thought. He could admit, even now, it was hard for him to look at this situation with an open mind. But closed minded or not, he certainly had no plans of getting out the salt—what kind a man did Kinch think he was? Forcing himself to smile, he put on his honest face. “In the unlikely event he decides to unburden himself, I promise I’ll be civil.”

“I’ll get Baker on those phones.” Kinch still didn’t seem completely mollified, but he was clearly willing to let the subject drop.

If Kinch was going to let it drop, Hogan wasn’t going to pick it up again. He acknowledged the Sergeant’s words with a nod before leaving his bunk, bound for Klink’s office. It would be a lie to say that he was looking forward to seeing the Commandant, but he didn’t have much of a choice—after agreeing to be the fall man for him, Carter didn’t deserve to be left to rot. So, looking forward to it or not, it was time to get to work.

And that meant arranging a meeting with Colonel Klink.

* * *

There had been two obstacles in Hogan’s path when it came to arranging that meeting.

The first had been a strangely forceful Sergeant Schultz, who had flat-out refused to let Hogan within so much as six feet of the office building itself—never mind stepping foot inside!

When wheedled, the usually talkative German had been oddly reticent about any particular reason _why_ he was so adamant Hogan keep his distance. Not even the promise of a candy from his Red Cross package could coax Schultz into saying anything more than ‘The Big Shot isn’t feeling well.’

Further questions had been flatly dismissed. Schultz’s sudden bout of loyalty to Klink was worth pondering, but Hogan had other things he needed to do first.

He had not been able to run a multinational underground operation this long without knowing when to retreat. Or when to pretend to retreat. Even with this odd protective stance Schultz had adopted, Schultz was still Schultz, and it hadn’t taken too terribly long for the man to become less attentive. Once that had happened, Hogan had snuck into the office building, leaving Schultz none the wiser.

It was there where he’d run into his second obstacle.

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” Hilda said, her expression matching her words, “but I _know_ that you are only going to rile him, and he does not need it today.” With that, she returned her gaze to the papers in front of her and started to write.

Hogan watched her work for a while, a bit baffled by the rebuff. Usually, Hilda was only too happy to go along with his schemes—not that he had one today or a chance to say what it was if he had—and considering she did her own fair share of ‘riling’ the Commandant...

Then again, remembering how frantic, how frightened, she’s sounded over the coffee pot before she’d been able to get Klink to speak, maybe this display of loyalty wasn’t so strange. It was the memory of her voice then which allowed him to rein in the irritation that had formed in response to her stubbornness.

Maybe a new tactic was needed. Maybe a nice, sharp tug on the old heart strings? “All I want to do is get Sergeant Carter out of the cooler. He’s already spent the whole night in that place.”

Her eyes softened for a moment before hardening again. “No. Absolutely not.”

He frowned and considered just walking by her and going into Klink’s office without being announced—it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so! However, as he didn’t want to deal with a sulky Hilda later, and keeping in mind the Commandant might be even less likely to hear him out today than usual, he decided the best way to go about this was to secure her cooperation.

Going over to her side of the desk, he stood as close to her as he could without actually touching her. “Come on, Fraulein, have a heart.” When this did not receive so much as a twitch, he leaned on the desktop, positioning himself so he had to look up at her. “Now, don’t do this to me; you know how much I hate to be ignored.”

Hilda sighed and set down her pen. “Colonel,” she began, still not looking at him, “I have a lot of work to do right now. I don’t have time for this.”

She was weakening—he could feel it. Just another little push. “Then let me see him. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

Now, she did look at him, her expression more serious than he’d ever seen it be. “If he agrees to see you, promise me that you won’t … that you won’t upset him.”

Hogan felt himself frown again. First Kinch and now Hilda? Just how many promises would he have to make today? It was enough to give a man a complex! “What’s the matter? You don’t trust me?”

She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Promise or I won’t announce you.”

Well, that answered _that_ question clearly enough. Still, he had to stop himself from grinning at Hilda’s display—it wasn’t often he saw her be genuinely defiant. It wasn’t such a bad look for her. although he might have liked it better if she thought she could trust him just a little. “All right. I’ll be good.”

“You promise?”

Standing upright and putting a hand on her shoulder, he smiled in that way he knew made her weak in the knees. “I promise.”

Hilda regarded him searchingly for several long seconds before her lips turned upwards. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Hogan’s smile widened, feeling as though he was back on far more familiar footing. “Could I hold you instead?”

Chuckling, she stood and gently took his hand off her shoulder. “That depends on how well you behave yourself, Colonel Hogan.” Then she shook her head, her levity abruptly replaced by a more somber emotion. “I’ll announce you. Just—the Kommandant had a … bad morning so, please, try not to, to get too close to him.”

“A bad morning?” While he wanted to get this meeting with Klink over with, he knew the difference between success and failure was often a good piece of intel. Anything that could make dealing with the man go more smoothly would be welcome.

She bit her lip, obviously debating with herself whether or not to explain. “When he missed Roll Call, Sergeant Schultz came to see what had kept him, and,” her gaze strayed down towards the floor as her eyes unfocused, “we found the Colonel on his couch. Sleeping. Then … he barely touched him and the Colonel, he...” trailing off, she shivered and brought her head back up. “I’ve never seen him act like that before. And poor Schultz—he looked almost as terrified as the Kommandant!”

That could explain why Schultz had been so protective. Klink’s behavior had shaken Hogan, and _he_ knew what was going on. Even if he hadn’t really decided what was going on. Before he could calm Hilda with some well chosen platitudes, she said something that really startled him.

“I think, I think something must have happened to him.”

“To Kl-To the Commandant? What could have happened to _him_?” Hogan asked, trying to sound as though he thought this was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. How much did she know? What had convinced her? And would there be anything he could say to put her at ease?

Hilda looked from side to side before coming to press herself against Hogan. He would have enjoyed this if she hadn’t looked so distressed. “I’m not sure,” she whispered softly, as though afraid of speaking too loudly, “but I think General Adler might be involved.”

To say that Hogan was surprised would not have done justice to his feelings. It was only his years of practice (and natural talent, of course) that allowed him to hide his shock at her intuition. “General Adler?” He knew he should be telling her that Adler couldn’t be involved in any troubles Klink was having, that he should be trying to throw her off the scent, but he was curious. How had she come to that conclusion? “What makes you say that?”

Hogan could feel her shudder, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “General Adler came to see him earlier this morning. I didn’t notice anything strange at first—I don’t listen at the door! But then, I heard shouting and crashing.” Her hand twisted tightly in the fabric of Hogan’s shirt. “I—I tried to open the door, but it was locked, and I—” She made a sound which could have been a laugh but was probably a sob. “I didn’t know what to do. And then it was quiet, and that was even worse.”

Stroking her hair, he closed his eyes and contemplated whether or not he should press or just let her tell her story her way. It became a moot question as she started speaking again. “He looked so pleased with himself when he came out,” Hilda spat venomously, her voice harsh. “I don’t know what he did, but he did something. And the Kommandant was so...” When she looked up, she was on the verge of tears. “I’m frightened for him, Hogan.”

While Hogan didn’t know when she had grown to care so much about what happened to Klink, it was plain she did now. Maybe she had a reason to worry. He gave her a light kiss on the forehead and hugged her a little closer. “It’ll be all right. I promise.” God knew he had no business making a promise like that, one he didn’t know he’d be able to keep, but he hated to see a woman cry. 

“Just take it easy,” he said gently. “Klink the Fink is a tough old bird—he’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“You really think so?”

He wished he did. The truth was, between everything he was hearing and what he’d seen first hand, his doubts on that score were beginning to grow by leaps and bounds. Summoning up his reserves, he smiled as genuinely as he could as he pushed her back a bit so he could lie to her face. “Yes. I do.”

She smiled and backed away, wiping her eyes. “J-just let me clean myself up and I’ll announce you.”

A couple of minutes and a quick coating of makeup later, Hilda looked much like herself again. Even if her eyes were still suspiciously bright. She knocked on the office door before opening it and sticking her head inside. “Kommandant?” Then, she tried again, concerned. “Sir?”

“What are you—” Klink’s shout broke off, and when he started again, he sounded a bit more polite. “Ah, I mean, what can I do for you, Fraulein?”

There was something off about his voice, but Hogan hadn’t heard quite enough yet to decide what it was.

“Colonel Hogan is here to see you, Kommandant.”

“Colonel Hogan?” A long pause. Then: “I—I suppose, I mean, there’s no reason I... Yes, I’ll see him.” Either Klink was being even less eloquent than usual or he was drunk. Neither was an encouraging prospect. Although, if Klink was drunk, maybe he wouldn’t act like Hogan was going to eat him alive—that much alone would almost make all the problems attendant in dealing with intoxicated people worth the trouble.

Hilda stepped back to allow Hogan access. “He’ll see you now.” Her warning look as she walked passed him was very easy to read: ‘Remember your promise!’

Finding it very hard not to resent the complete lack of trust there, Hogan gave her another smile before entering the office himself. He was in the middle of waving at Klink, a glib greeting on his tongue, when he noticed what the Commandant was holding in his hands. Innocent explanations ran through his mind but all were rejected in turn.

Hogan couldn’t be one hundred percent certain what was happening here, but he was reasonably certain of two things: he owed Kinch an apology, and he was going to have to follow the radioman’s advice and soon.

Before it was too late.


	22. Into the Gloom

Physically, Klink felt better than he had in days. The Schnapps had really done a lot to make the pain he was feeling seem much less important. Of course, when he’d gotten up the energy to search for his monocle—which he’d finally found under the coat rack—, the bending hadn’t been exactly comfortable but now? He barely noticed it anymore unless he moved quickly. Even then, he regarded it with little more than mild irritation.

Mentally, he didn’t feel much of a difference. The tone of his thoughts hadn’t changed from when he’d started—apathy, rage, and hopelessness were still the predominate emotions swirling around his head. Either his tolerance for drink had gone up since the last time he’d drunk this much or that state of happy incapacitation he’d been trying for was harder to reach without friendly company.

It struck him as very unfair. All he’d wanted was a little peace. All he’d wanted was to forget for a while. Had that been too much to expect?

Apparently so. For all that the alcohol was numbing his body, his mind refused to calm. Dark, disturbing thoughts coiled and snaked through his brain, whirling in confusing, ever constricting circles. There was a resolution buried somewhere in the mess, but he was hesitant to actually try finding it.

He was afraid of where he might be led.

Unfortunately, it was really very simple. If he had to go to Berlin with Adler, he’d go insane. If he refused to go, Adler would hand him over to the Gestapo. If he was handed over to the Gestapo, especially if they thought he had any plans of assassinating the Führer, he’d be tortured before being _allowed_ to die. If he could get away from Adler long enough to attempt running away, there was nowhere he could go.

His choices seemed limited to say the least.

Going with Adler to Berlin was completely out of the question. Even if he had no concerns over his physical health (he couldn’t imagine how he’d feel after a few weeks of Adler’s treatment when he felt like _this_ already), Klink was positive that his mind wouldn’t survive.

Adler alone would have been bad enough; being surrounded by the Gestapo in addition to Adler was hardly an encouraging prospect. He felt close to snapping as it was, and he was with … well, not friends, but subordinates who, probably, weren’t looking for a reason to stab him in the back. Klink doubted he’d even be able to _function_ in Berlin with both Adler _and_ the Gestapo to contend with.

He also had to wonder—and he did this with reluctance—whether continuing to let himself be used by Adler would be worth the anguish he was going through under those conditions. When he’d agreed to the original deal, he had done so with the belief that staying alive was worth the price he was being forced to pay. That his life was worth more than the humiliation of letting Adler take what he wanted.

Even after Adler had … modified the arrangement, Klink had still kept his part of the bargain. Though his life seemed to steadily lose value every time he and Adler—every time Adler collected, he hadn’t been prepared to simply throw it away after what he’d already paid. It was that fact which would have kept him paying until Adler decided he’d had enough. Klink hadn’t been able to bear the thought of going through all this for nothing.

Besides, Adler _had_ to leave eventually. Even if he came back, Klink could have some peace while he was gone.

But now? Now, it was a whole other story. Yes, despite how he felt about himself, Klink still didn’t want to be tortured and killed by the Gestapo, but how could he justify this new cost? Paying so dearly—his health, his sanity, all his control—and for what? To exist as nothing more than Adler’s plaything? That was no life he wanted any part of!

 _Why not?_ A dark part of his mind whispered. _Don’t you enjoy what he does to you?_

Klink gulped down some more liquor, closing his eyes as it traveled down his throat. That was one of the things he simply could not understand about all of this. He hated being touched by Adler. He hated the feel of Adler on his skin. Being kissed by Adler made him feel ill. Being sodomized _hurt_. And yet, despite his efforts to deny his arousal, he _still_ lost control. Why should he have to _fight_ not to feel anything—shouldn’t the fact he was being forced by a man he despised be enough?

Clearly it wasn’t, but he couldn’t think about that now. Klink could feel Adler’s hands on him, could almost hear the disgusting sounds the other man made. If he didn’t turn his thoughts elsewhere, he was going to vomit and that would be a waste of liquor.

Regrettably, the only other thoughts his mind could latch onto weren’t much more pleasant. His apparent enjoyment of Adler’s attentions aside, Klink did not want to spend the rest of his life as Adler’s puppet.

And he was beginning to doubt there was much point in sticking it out even if Adler _didn’t_ insist on taking him to Berlin. He had to wonder what exactly Adler planned to do once he got tired of the games. Could Klink honestly expect Adler to just let him go once he became bored? Assuming, of course, that Adler didn’t manage to ‘break’ him in the meantime.

Judging from what he knew of Adler, he had to admit that outcome was far too optimistic to put much faith in. More than likely, Klink’s ‘reward’ for letting Adler use him would be being tossed to the Gestapo when he ceased to amuse. The swine had no honor, that much was obvious from his choice in hobby.

It was starting to look like it didn’t matter what he did—it always seemed to lead him back to the Gestapo interrogation rooms. God, was there any way out of this that _didn’t_ end with him being murdered!

A thought wormed into his brain, and he found himself staring down at the bottom desk drawer with a nervous flutter in his stomach. There was at least one way. He set the bottle down, afraid he might drop it as his hands became nerveless. Hesitantly, feeling almost as though he was watching through someone else’s eyes, Klink took the key out of the top drawer and set to unlocking the bottom one.

Not including some fumbling before he found the keyhole, the drawer opened with a minimum of fuss, and he saw what he’d expected to see right away. Heavy in his hand as he drew it from its hiding place, the Luger looked just about the same as when he’d first put it away. Maybe a little dull from being uncared-for in a locked drawer but not any worse for wear.

A couple titters escaped him. How could it be ‘worse for wear’ when he hadn’t touched the thing since he’d put it in there! It had been so long since he’d handled it, he wasn’t sure if it was even loaded. Well, the answer to _that_ question was fairly simple to find. The magazine slid out of the pistol easily, and the smile left Klink’s face when he saw the bullets peeking back at him through the side.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he forced the magazine back into the pistol. The resulting click seemed very loud, and he flinched at the noise. His thoughts turned dark, and he idly rolled the pistol from one hand to the other as he felt himself sink into the gloom.

There was really only one way all of this could end, wasn’t there? He refused to play Adler’s games any longer; Adler would give him to the Gestapo. Adler became bored with him; Adler would give him to the Gestapo. Being handed to the Gestapo was a death sentence, a slow one. And if he went along with Adler to Berlin, he might as well be dead.

So, what was the point in waiting for the inevitable? Why continue to let Adler use him? Why collect any more evidence of his deficiency? Klink already knew how this, this farce was going to end—why should he prolong this humiliation if he was just going to die no matter _what_ he did?

This way would be so much simpler. Just cock the hammer, squeeze the trigger, and it would all be finished. A bullet to the brain would be a lot less painful than whatever end the Gestapo could devise! He didn’t appear to be using his brain much lately anyway—no major loss there. It would be so easy. It would be so—

Hastily, he slid the magazine out of the pistol again. His hands were moist and trembled badly as he eased the bullets, one by one, out of the magazine and dropped them onto the desktop. Once it was empty, he slipped the magazine back into the Luger and let out a shaky sigh. There. Now, if he had a sudden urge to end it all, it would take him a little more time to actually go through with it. 

Klink wasn’t sure if he was brave enough, desperate enough, to actually aim the pistol at his head and pull the trigger, but he saw no purpose in tempting himself. And he was tempted. He was frightened by just how tempted he was.

However, while committing suicide would put a quick, fairly painless, and very permanent end to his problems, he didn’t want to take his own life. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he still wasn’t anxious to find out what was waiting for him on the other side. Killing himself wouldn’t erase what had already happened. No number of bullets in his head would change what he’d become. 

_Well, unless my aim is very bad,_ Klink reconsidered, _one bullet will_ probably _do the trick._

Shaking his head sharply, he reminded himself he had no plans to find out. He wasn’t going to kill himself. Maybe his life wasn’t worth much anymore, but it was about all he had, and he wasn’t going to throw it away rashly. The only way he’d even _consider_ doing such a thing was if he had no other alternative.

But, realistically, what _were_ his alternatives now? It seemed like his only choices were waiting to be murdered or committing suicide. If those were his only choices . . . maybe suicide wasn’t such a terrible idea. At least he’d have some control over his death; his life seemed more or less out of his hands right now.

Although, if he did settle on suicide, he had no intention of dying alone. If he picked death, Adler would die first. Klink would see to it.

Being put down like the animal he was was the least the beast deserved. A man like him really deserved a much more hideous death than the quick one Klink had in mind, but Klink was not depraved enough to give it to him. He was not like Adler, and whatever depths he was currently plumbing, Klink would not let himself descend to Adler’s level if he could possibly help it.

Unfortunately, as satisfying as it would be to rid the world of Adler, Klink knew, once he’d done so, he’d have no choice _but_ to commit suicide. About the only thing which could be said for the Gestapo was that they looked after their own. The sickening irony of being arrested by the Gestapo after everything he’d done to avoid that fate wasn’t lost on him. Adler’s murder would definitely earn Klink a seat in an interrogation room.

Torture was enough of a reason to want to avoid that, but there were other considerations as well. They’d want to know _why_ he’d done what he’d done, and, eventually, he would tell them … everything.

While Klink didn’t have the closest relationship with what family he had left, he didn’t hate them. He certainly didn’t hate them enough to want to tarnish the family name; a full accounting of what had gone on between him and Adler would do just that. No one would care that he’d had to be blackmailed to agree to it. All that would matter was he’d had rela—no, might as well make it plain—that he’d had sex with a man.

That would be more than enough to make him homosexual in the eyes of the Reich and anyone else who mattered. His family would have to deal with the close scrutiny of the authorities as well as the disgust of their neighbors when all of this got out. Homosexuality, in addition to being unnatural, was also considered a crime. Klink just wondered which of his crimes the authorities would be more concerned with: that he’d had sex with Adler or that he’d killed him.

And if he survived whatever the Gestapo put him through, would he be sent to prison for Adler’s murder or to a work camp with the other of the Reich’s undesirables? Or would the Gestapo just quietly dispose of him to avoid the embarrassment of having it known they’d had a homosexual in their ranks? The last was the most optimistic outcome because then his family would be spared that same embarrassment, but why take that chance if he didn’t have to?

Far better for people to believe he’d simply snapped and gone homicidal.

Far better if he wasn’t around to be interrogated.

“Sir?”

Startled, Klink almost dropped the pistol. He managed to keep hold of it, but he was flustered and disconcerted at being caught so completely off guard. He hadn’t even heard the door open! “What are you—!” Looking up to see whom he was yelling at, he bit back the rest of the diatribe.

The distress on Hilda’s face convinced him to make an extra effort to sound cordial when he tried again. “Ah, I mean, what can I do for you, Fraulein?”

She hesitated, looking very much like she regretted having entered the room at all, before smiling a false smile. “Colonel Hogan is here to see you, Kommandant.”

“Colonel Hogan?” Saying the name made Klink’s face go hot with mortified embarrassment. He still couldn’t believe he’d imagined kissing the man—clearly, his mind was a strange, twisted place. Fortunately, there wasn’t time to worry about that at the moment. What could Hogan want? It seemed as though Klink should already have some idea, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Did he even _want_ to see Hogan? No, but did he really want to spend the rest of the day being pestered by the Senior POW if he refused to see him now? Since the answer to the last question was no as well, Klink figured he might as well find out what this was all about. “I—I suppose, I mean, there’s no reason I...” Shaking his head, he wondered why he was having so much trouble stringing a sentence together. “Yes, I’ll see him.”

Hilda was soon replaced in the doorway by Colonel Hogan who looked tired even if he was smiling. That smile faltered almost immediately, and his hand froze mid greeting. He seemed disturbed by something, practically gaping. 

Wondering what could have unsettled Hogan so completely, Klink followed the other man’s gaze down to the Luger in his hands. Realization came to him a moment later, and he dropped the weapon down on the desktop, feeling as though he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“What do you want, Colonel?” Klink asked, both to hide his chagrin and to get this meeting over with. He didn’t feel tense—with the alcohol he’d consumed, Hogan would have to do something a bit more threatening than just standing there to make him tense—but he felt very … aware of Hogan.

His expression. The way he was slouching. How close he was to the desk. The fact that his cap was crooked. The color of his eyes.

The whole affect made Klink profoundly uncomfortable.

Hogan’s gaze moved up to Klink’s face, and he frowned slightly before giving a little shrug, all nonchalance again. “Well, sir, I was hoping to get my Sergeant out of the cooler, for starters.”

Ah, so that was it. Klink leaned back in his chair, feeling a dim complaint across his spine, and considered. Being so busy with his transfer plans and having already shown his displeasure the night before, Adler probably wouldn’t bother pursuing the matter any further. There would be no harm in letting the young man out, and not doing so would break the spirit of his and Hogan’s agreement, if not the word.

Klink wasn’t turning out to be much of a man nowadays, but he was determined to at least keep his word. Even the silent ones he hadn’t actually said. That, and he didn’t want to owe the American any debts just in case he wasn’t around long enough to pay them.

He stood and immediately thought better of actually walking out to the cooler himself. While the pain in his hips and backside had lessened, it was still present and no longer the only problem. Klink wasn’t incapacitated by any means (despite his efforts), but he wasn’t sure if he could keep his balance without a nice sturdy desk or wall for support.

Stumbling around his office was one thing; stumbling around out in the compound was another entirely. He was supposed to be an example for the men, after all. Time to delegate! “Fetch Fraulein Hilda for me, would you?”

When Hogan left, presumably to do so but who could be sure with him?, Klink grabbed for the bottle of Schnapps and contemplated taking another sip. He had raised the bottle up to his mouth, deciding there was no reason to stop now, when a sudden bout of vertigo made him reconsider.

As much as he’d like to drown out his thoughts, he didn’t want to vomit. This drinking thing didn’t seem to be working the way he’d hoped it would anyway. Setting the bottle back down, he looked to the doorway and saw Hogan had returned with Hilda in tow.

The frown turning down Hilda’s mouth told him that his aborted sip hadn’t gone unnoticed. Klink felt a flash of shame for what this must look like—that he’d pawned his work off on her so he could spend the morning drinking... Which was technically true, now that he was thinking about it. Pretending not to notice her silent disapproval, he got down to business.

“Fraulein. Please tell Corporal...” Now, what was that man’s name? Schwarz? Weiß? Roth? He was almost positive it was some color. Maybe Gelb? No, it _couldn’t_ be Gelb!

“Do you mean Corporal Braun, Kommandant?” Hilda asked, her obvious disappointment now mixed with concern.

Klink wasn’t sure what she was concerned about, but he was glad he’d been right about the Corporal’s surname being a color. While it was a minor achievement at best, it was nice to be right about _something_. “Yes! Tell him to release Sergeant Carter.” Then he thought a bit more and added, “If he gives you any trouble, you just, you just send him to me, all right?”

She seemed torn for a moment, still worried and still unhappy, before nodding her assent. “Yes, sir.”

Watching her go, Klink cringed when she shut the door just a little too hard. He’d have to make this up to her somehow. Right now though, he had other matters to attend to. Well, one matter, anyway. He’d have to have this conversation with the POW eventually, so why not take care of it now?

Might as well let Hogan be prepared for his impending transfer. Not that he’d _need_ to be; Klink was certain the American would have the unlucky soul who replaced him jumping through hoops in no time. Still, it seemed only courteous to let him know.

“I have some, some good news for you, Colonel,” he said with as much of a smile as he could manage as he sat back down.

“Really, sir?” Hogan tilted his head and grinned. “You mean you’ve finally reconsidered letting us build that bowling alley?”

“Bowling alley? I don’t remember anything about a—” Klink cut himself off with a sigh, realizing Hogan was just pulling his leg. Again. Was it possible for that man to be serious? If all American officers acted this way, Klink had to wonder how they were managing to hold their own in this war!

“No,” he said dryly, trying to regain his train of thought. He was feeling a little disoriented now that he was actually having a conversation. Maybe the Schnapps was affecting him more than he’d thought. “General Adler has decided he’d like to try transferring me to Berlin.” He paused to gauge Hogan’s reaction to the news and thought there was something odd about it.

After failing to figure out what it was, he continued on, forcing his tone to be light, “In as little as a week, you might not have me around to annoy anymore.”

“That would be a shame,” Hogan said, sounding strangely sincere. “No one could ever replace the Iron Eagle.”

If he hadn’t known better, Klink might have thought he was being serious. As it was, he had to stop himself from applauding Hogan’s acting skills. Although, seeing as the American had already gotten what he’d wanted out of this little encounter, why he was bothering with the false sympathy was a bit beyond him. “Yes. Well. That’s all the news I have for you. You are dismissed.”

Not waiting to watch him leave, Klink picked up the Luger and set to reloading it. He figured, if it came down to using it, he ought to be prepared. He hoped he’d be able to think of some other way, but he saw no reason to risk being caught with his pants—to be caught unawares. Also, it wasn’t a good idea to just leave a bunch of bullets laying around. Dangerous _and_ messy.

If only he could get his fingers to coordinate a little better...

“What are you going to do with that, Commandant?”

Hogan was still here? A quick glance up confirmed this. It also confirmed Hogan was closer than he had been before, right up to the front of the desk. “Nothing that’s any of your business,” Klink answered gruffly, trying not let his suddenly shaking hands further impair his progress. Looked like he’d been wrong: despite the alcohol, Hogan _could_ make him tense just by standing there. “Is there something else you want?” he asked when he didn’t hear the other man walk away.

“Sir, I was thinking... It’s been an awfully long time since we’ve talked.”

Klink raised his head, feeling his brow furrow in confusion and disbelief. Why did Hogan look so ill at ease? And a ‘long time since we’ve talked’? _Hogan_ wanted to talk? With him? About _what_? “What could _we_ possibly have to talk about, Hogan?”

Then, deciding he had no energy, mental or otherwise, to deal with Hogan’s games, Klink returned his attention back to his reloading. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Dismissed!” With great effort, he managed to coax a fair number of bullets into the magazine before Hogan made his continued presence known.

“Sir, I think we really need to talk about this.”

Something in the American’s voice made Klink look up again even though he wasn’t sure what ‘this’ Hogan was referring to. He was immediately struck by how serious Hogan was. Klink had seen him be everything from flippant to earnest, and even when he was trying to be somber, Hogan usually had a gleam of humor in his eyes. That humor was missing now, and Klink wasn’t sure what to make of its absence.

Except that it made him nervous. Very nervous.

Being scrutinized so closely, so seriously, made the sick terror the Schnapps had suppressed return with a vengeance. It didn’t help that the appraisal in Hogan’s gaze _wasn’t_ just a figment of his overtaxed imagination.

All right, so Hogan wasn’t leering at him or raking his body with his eyes like Adler did—it was more of a calculating expression than anything—but that realization did nothing to stop the sweat from collecting in Klink’s palms or the blood from pounding in his ears.

What could he do if Hogan decided to try something? All he had was this pistol, and even if he was prepared to use it on Hogan, by the time he could ram the magazine back into the Luger, the American could have already—

Klink shook his head sharply. Hogan was _not_ going to jump him. He wasn’t. In all the time he’d known the man, Hogan had never shown him that kind of interest. Besides, if the couple times he’d caught the Senior POW with his hands on his secretary were anything to go by, Hogan was as normal as they came.

 _That doesn’t mean anything,_ Klink reminded himself with a grimace. After all, he’d thought he’d been normal, too, before Adler proved him wrong. Either way, what was _he_ so worried about? He’d already imagined kissing Hogan—surely, the idea of the real thing shouldn’t disturb him so much.

“Colonel Klink?”

Noting the blend of anxious impatience in Hogan’s voice, Klink realized he’d let his mind wander again. He offered the American an apologetic smile, doing his best to focus on his eyes rather than his mouth. “I’m sorry, Colonel.” Then, worried that he was seeming too friendly, he strove for a more business like tone. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

Hogan’s lips thinned into a grim line before the rest of his expression followed suit. When he spoke, his tone was flat but with a hint of challenge. “Would you mind telling me what you’re planning to do with that gun?” 

Klink frowned down at the Luger, perplexed. This was the second time Hogan had asked about it. Why was he so, so _worried_ about the thing? Surely, Hogan didn’t think he planned on using it on _him_! Even taking into account Klink’s rampant paranoia, Hogan had no reason to fear that. In fact, he didn’t have a reason to _think_ he had a reason!

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Klink reassured him as he picked up the final bullet and edged it into the magazine. “But if this is all you want to talk about, I’d like you to leave.” Sliding the magazine back into the pistol, he watched it transform from an unwieldy paperweight into a deadly piece of precision engineering.

After a terrifying moment of temptation, he gently set the Luger down on the desktop. It had been a close thing, but the desire to see Adler go before him was stronger than his want for things to end. If he was going to die, he wanted it to mean something.

“I don’t think I should do that, sir.”

Ire was starting to overcome Klink’s discomfort, and he peered at the American through narrowed eyes. “And I don’t think I asked your opinion. I think I asked you to leave.” When Hogan made no move to do as he’d been asked, Klink’s hand clenched into a tight fist. “You are dismissed!”

Infuriatingly enough, Hogan had the nerve to look frustrated when _he_ was the one who couldn’t follow simple directions. “I’m not leaving until you answer my question.”

Klink didn’t know what to think of this stubbornness, but the outright insubordination was exasperating. “Hogan, I know I told you I’m going to be transferred, but I’m not gone yet! You still have to do what I tell you, and I told you to leave.”

“I would love to leave,” Hogan said, his tone caustic and condescending. “And I would, if I could trust you not to do something stupid.”

“Something stupid? Something _stupid_?” A part of Klink wondered what on Earth the American was going on about—what stupid thing did Hogan think he was going to do? Why should he think he might do something stupid in the first place?

However, that part was all but buried beneath Klink’s growing indignation. Where did Hogan get the idea that what Klink did was _any_ of his concern? And ‘Trust’? What did _trust_ have to do with anything! “You do not have a say in anything I do.”

“Maybe I don’t,” agreed Hogan before his eyes hardened with steely determination, “but I’m still not going to let you do something stupid with that gun.”

“What?” Klink was absolutely flabbergasted. “What do you mean, you’re not going to _let_ me?” His indignation flared into real anger, hot and unstoppable. Just who did Hogan think he was! “Since when do I take orders from you?” He stood, ignoring the vertigo easily, and jabbed a finger at the American. “Sometimes I think you think you _own_ this place.”

Hogan’s mouth was open, but Klink was not remotely interested in hearing anything he had to say. Every shred of his earlier terror had been sublimated into a desperate fury. Klink was sick of people thinking he was theirs to control! He absolutely wasn’t going to take this from Hogan—Hogan was his _prisoner_ for God’s sake!

“Well, you don’t!” Klink exploded, pounding the desktop with his fists as he leaned over it. “You don’t own this camp, and you don’t own me.” It was bad enough there was nothing he could do about Adler’s talons in him; he refused to let Hogan dig his claws in too!

But there _was_ something he could do about Adler’s talons, wasn’t there? Yes. Yes, there was. Suddenly, the Luger was in his hand, and he held it aloft. “You don’t own me.” Klink could feel himself trembling with rage as he glowered at a pale Colonel Hogan. Good, let _him_ be afraid; Klink was sick of that too. The only thing which could have made this moment better was if it was Adler standing in front of him looking so pale.

 _Adler._ Just thinking of that beast made Klink’s grip on the Luger tighten. “Adler, that swine, doesn’t own me either, and I’ll be taking care of him soon enough. A couple shots ought to be enough to put him down, don’t you think?” A faint voice warned Klink he was saying too much, and that he should stop now, but he was too far over the edge to pay it the least bit mind.

“And after I’m through with him,” he continued on, his tightening throat making his voice hoarse, “one bullet should be enough for me—unless I miss. Then I’ll need a few more!” He started laughing harshly, hysterically, morbidly amused by the idea of missing such an easy shot. Of course, if anyone _could_ miss a point blank shot to the temple, it’d be him.

And Hogan was. Still. Standing. There. Klink’s laughter trailed off, his vision becoming blurry as something dripped down his face. _Why_ was he still standing there? What was he playing at? What kind of game was this? It didn’t matter: Klink was sick of all of these damned games, and he wasn’t going to play this one any longer. “Just get out of my office,” he snarled, thumbing back the hammer and aiming the Luger squarely at the other man’s chest. “Schnell!”

“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t, Commandant?” Hogan asked quietly, looking and sounding remarkably calm considering the question.

It was that completely unexpected calmness which snapped Klink from his rage as Hogan’s question penetrated his mind. He blinked at the American and realized what he was doing. Then he realized what he’d said, and he felt the blood drain from his face. “No,” he whispered, the enormity of what he’d just done and what he _might_ have done stealing away his strength. “No, I’m not going to shoot you.”

His heart was a leaden weight in his chest as his legs buckled, and he collapsed into his chair. Dear God. He brought a hand up to his face and felt the cool barrel of the Luger he was still holding slide across his cheek. Stricken, panicked, Klink threw the weapon away, not wanting the thing anywhere near him. He recalled a vital instant too late what a bad idea throwing a cocked and loaded pistol on the floor was.

The relief he felt when the Luger didn’t go off when it hit was fleeting. He looked up at Hogan, feeling as though he might be ill. “Hogan, I...” What did he think he was going to say? What could he possibly say now? He could have shot the man. Dear God, he could have _killed_ him! His finger had been on the trigger; one slip and it would have been done. As much as Hogan frustrated him at times, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. He wasn’t Adler—

Klink felt sick all over again as he remembered what he’d said. Could he have possibly made his intentions any clearer? Inwardly cursing his big mouth and whoever had invented Schnapps, he wiped his eyes with his jacket sleeve. What was he supposed to do? How could he take those words back! Hogan knew now and—

And what? A fatalistic calm descended on Klink, and he almost smiled. So what if Hogan knew his plans? It wouldn’t make any difference. What could Hogan do about any of it? He was a prisoner; no one would listen to him. Who would he even talk to? _Adler_? That assumed he’d bother saying anything. That assumed he’d care enough to try.

Which was nonsense. Why should Hogan care what happened to him _or_ Adler?

“Commandant?”

After all, what were two dead German officers to an American POW?

“Sir?”

A good start.

“Com-Klink, are you still with me? You know I can’t take being ignored.”

Klink noticed the omission of his rank but felt too mentally exhausted to care much about the disrespect. The world was spinning ever so gently, a headache was forming behind his eyes, and he knew they would only be getting worse. Maybe he owed Hogan something for pointing a pistol at him, but he couldn’t talk to him now. “Please. Go back to your barracks. Or go bother Schultz for a while. Anything. Just do it somewhere else.”

“Anything?” Hogan asked, rubbing his chin in a faux thoughtful way, before shaking his head in mock reluctance. “No, better not. I think I’m going to stick around for a while.”

After the rage of only minutes before and his horror at how easily he’d lost control of himself, Klink couldn’t even summon up a flicker of frustration for this answer. “Fine. Stay,” he said wearily as he pushed himself up onto unsteady feet. “ _I’ll_ leave.”

He’d only taken a couple steps before Hogan came to stand beside him. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Was he incapable of understanding when he wasn’t wanted? Klink turned so he could speak to him face to face and realized Hogan was much closer than he’d thought he was.

“What do you want, Colonel?” Klink despised himself for sounding so afraid. For being so afraid. He had nothing to be afraid of. Even if he _did_ have something to fear from Hogan, considering his behavior of late, he’d probably enjoy it.

“How about a game of chess?” Hogan suggested, his tone lighthearted even if his lighthearted expression seemed suddenly forced and pained. “It’s been a while since we’ve played.”

A faint, wistful smile tugged at Klink’s lips. Ah, for the days when the idea of being less than three feet away from a man didn’t make him want to bolt—for the days when he could actually look forward to playing chess. Then he frowned, feeling completely bewildered.

Chess? He’d told Hogan not five minutes before that he was planning on killing someone before turning the gun on himself, and the man wanted to play _chess_? Sure, Klink hadn’t expected Hogan to actually care too much, but the way the American was acting, as though Klink hadn’t said anything at all, was surreal. That surreal feeling was helped along by another bout of spinning. He put a hand on his forehead, vowing never to drink this much again as he waited for it to pass. “I think, I think I’ve had too much Schnapps to be much of a challenge for you.”

“Good.”

Further bewildered by this strange response to his excuse, Klink lowered his hand so he could see Hogan’s face. “What? Why is that good?”

Hogan’s answering grin was wide. “Maybe I can win today; I get tired of losing to you _all_ the time.”

Klink looked away, refusing to let himself be taken in by the man’s charm. Hogan was lying, and it wasn’t even particularly convincing. He didn’t know what Hogan really wanted, but there was no possibility that he only wanted to play chess! “I’m not interested in playing chess,” he said, making no effort to be civil, “and I don’t want your company. All I want is to be left alone.”

Silence stretched between them for several long seconds. Klink had been about to try a different tact when Hogan beat him to it. “At the risk of setting you off again, sir, you’re clearly in no condition to be left alone right now.” His tone allowed no argument without being imperious; he spoke as if he was merely stating a simple, incontrovertible fact.

With what Klink had said and done earlier, he could grant Hogan had every reason to believe what he’d said. Maybe he was even right. However, the only plan Klink had at the moment involved getting some sleep and sobering up before he did anything else he could regret. Although, with everything that had happened today—was it still only morning?—he doubted sleep would come easily. Or be very restful.

But before he could attempt it, he had to get free of his shadow. “Hogan, I don’t know why my welfare is suddenly a concern of yours, but I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Hogan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “So, you were just _kidding_ when you said you planned to off yourself?” He shook his head, looking almost insulted. “Forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

Klink winced at the blunt phrasing but conceded the accuracy of it. So, that explained why Hogan didn’t want to leave, but that didn’t explain _why_ he didn’t want to leave. What difference should it make to Hogan whether or not he killed himself? “Why are you pretending to care?”

The American’s eyes widened, and he let his arms fall. “Why am I pretending to care?” he repeated, looking completely taken aback. Stepping up to face Klink head on, Hogan reached out and rested his hand on Klink’s shoulder. When he spoke, he sounded genuinely curious and, perhaps, a little hurt. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

Klink shuddered, both at the touch and at the fears the question brought to mind. He wanted to back away, get out of Hogan’s grasp, but he couldn’t make his body move. He wondered if he was too scared to move or if he didn’t actually want to. “I,” he swallowed hard, wishing he could force out something stronger than a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Hogan’s eyes softened while his hold tightened—not tight enough to be painful but enough to remind Klink uncomfortably of Adler’s hands on him. “I’m not a liar, for one thing,” a brief self depreciating smirk, “at least, not about something like this. I meant what I said about the place not being the same without you.”

Before Klink had a chance to digest this statement, a cheerful smile suddenly broke onto Hogan’s face as he moved his hand down to grab Klink’s elbow. “Come on, sir. If you’re not up to chess, I’ve got a deck of cards.”

Caught off guard by this sudden change in the conversation, Klink offered no resistance when Hogan started leading him to his quarters. Once he realized what was happening, he considered trying to fight it before deciding he was tired of fighting with Hogan. Let him have his way—Klink was becoming used to men having their way with him. And if all Hogan wanted from him was a couple games of cards, he should count himself lucky!

Still, regardless of whether Hogan’s motives were as benign as he’d claimed, Klink would enjoy having the guard who brought his lunch take the POW away if he insisted on staying that long. That might remind Hogan who was supposed to be giving the orders around here.

But only ‘might’ because the man was incorrigible. 


	23. A Tense Game of Cards

“So, it’s my turn now?” Klink asked, staring down at his cards with a slightly glazed look on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Hogan answered, leaning back in his chair and watching Klink try to sit up a little straighter on the couch. He seemed to be having a problem, but Hogan had asked him before if he’d like help, and Klink had told him ‘no’ with a faintly panicked expression. Hogan decided he was better off just waiting in silence.

Finally, Klink resettled himself. His free hand absently strayed to a patch of red on his cheek that threatened to become a nasty bruise as he made his choice. “Do you have a five?”

Hogan glanced down to see what he was holding before shaking his head. “Go fish.”

Picking a card from the pile, Klink frowned. “This is a silly game.” He looked at Hogan, perplexed. “Why did I agree to play this with you?”

These were the first words the Commandant had said to him that weren’t part of said game since they’d started, and Hogan couldn’t deny feeling a little relieved. It had been a bit unsettling to have the usually loquacious man be so silent. He smiled encouragingly. “You said you wanted an easy game—they don’t get much easier than this.”

Klink pursed his lips but put the card into his hand. “I suppose. It’s your turn.”

“Do you have any queens?” Hogan watched Klink search blearily through his cards and let the smile fall away. Now that he was here with the Commandant, he wasn’t sure what to do. He knew it would be a bad idea to leave him alone but beyond that? Did he try to get him talking like Kinch told him he should or was it too soon to try?

The truth was Hogan wasn’t entirely certain how Klink would react anymore to what he said or did. Even if there was no pistol lying around this time, he didn’t want to set the Commandant off again. That would be a bit counterproductive, and it had been very disturbing to see Klink so far over the edge—he didn’t need to see _that_ again for a while.

More than ever, the Commandant seemed fragile. The man was tense—even three sheets to the wind, he was tense!—, and it was impossible not to notice the wary glances he got from him whenever he thought Hogan wasn’t paying attention. It was disheartening and more than a little frustrating because Hogan _still_ didn’t know what he was so afraid of.

Whatever he ended up doing, he’d have to be careful—that much was obvious. Now, all he had to do was decide just what he was going to do!

Shoulders abruptly slumping, Klink pulled a card from his hand and tossed it down on the table. “There’s your queen.”

Hogan picked it up and matched it with the card in his own hand before setting both on his winnings pile. Obviously, if he wanted Klink to talk, it’d be up to him to get the ball rolling. It was a risk, but Hogan was willing to take it—there were only so many hands of Fish he could play before he lost his mind.

He spared a thought to how prepared he was to hear whatever Klink might tell him and knew he wasn’t in the least, but he was at a loss as to what else he could do. It was a moot point anyway if he couldn’t get Klink to say something in the first place.

The important thing was to ease into the subject. If he tried pushing too hard, Klink would definitely clam up. That left the question of how exactly you eased into a subject like this. An idea came to him, and he figured he had little to lose by trying.

“Hilda’s worried about you, sir.”

Klink looked up, pained. “You don’t think I know that?” He shook his head as if disgusted. “She shouldn’t worry on my account.”

Hogan quirked an eyebrow. “Seems to me she’s got a reason to worry.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Klink explained tiredly as he returned his gaze downwards. “I meant that I don’t deserve it.” He’d said it in such a matter of fact tone it took Hogan a second to realize what an odd thing it was to say.

And it was an odd thing to say. Hogan could understand not wanting to be pitied but not wanting a pretty girl to be concerned for you? And why would Klink think he didn’t deserve it? He tilted his head. “Why not?”

For a long moment, Klink stared down blankly, as if thinking, before shaking his head again. He glanced at Hogan with unconcealed annoyance. “Isn’t it still your turn?”

Giving his cards a quick scan, Hogan asked for deuces. As Klink carefully picked through his cards, Hogan decided to let his question go unanswered for the moment and try again. “She told me you’d had a bad morning.”

Either Klink was ignoring him or was very absorbed in his task. While the Commandant had amassed quite the hand since they’d started this game and though he’d obviously had plenty to drink before hand, Hogan doubted the search could be _that_ engrossing. If he was determined to ignore him, Hogan would just have to push a little harder.

“She told me you just about gave poor Schultz a heart attack when he touched you to get you up this morning.”

Only a slight shudder gave any indication Klink was actually listening.

Hogan frowned. It was something but not what he wanted. He wanted Klink to talk, and technically, the man was _still_ ignoring him. Well, if he had to start shoving, that didn’t bother him at all. “Kind of reminded me of how you were when I touched you last night.”

Klink’s cheeks flushed as his expression tightened. Then he sat up straighter and muttered “Go fish” through clenched teeth.

Drawing a card from the pile, Hogan put it in his hand without looking at it. He had more important, and interesting, things on his mind right now. Maybe it was time to stop pussy-footing around. “But that wasn’t the most interesting thing she told me.”

Klink scowled, but his voice was level when he spoke. “Do you have any tens?”

At any other time, Hogan might have appreciated the Commandant’s single-mindedness. At the moment though, it was a little annoying, and the man had to be crazy if he actually thought Hogan was going to look for any tens! “Don’t you want to know what she said?” 

The Commandant brought his head up to give Hogan a dirty look. “You’re just going to tell me no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

Hogan couldn’t keep the cheeky smile off his face. “What can I say, sir? I can’t keep a good bit of gossip to myself.”

Shaking his head, Klink sighed in defeat. “Fine. What did she say?”

While a part of Hogan felt a little guilty for what he was about to spring on the Commandant, he knew this would be the fastest way to get to the core of the matter. Maybe the fastest way wasn’t necessarily the best way, but he couldn’t see how else to do it. “You won’t believe this,” he started, keeping his tone light, “but she seems to think that General Adler’s done something to you.”

Klink blanched, and his hold on the cards tightened enough to bend them. “Wh-what did she—How did—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, his expression was calmer although the blood hadn’t returned to his face. “She needs to spend less time gossiping and more time working.” As if sensing this wasn’t very convincing, he added: “She’s mistaken.”

If Hogan hadn’t already known Adler was involved, this answer would have convinced him—the Commandant was a terrible liar, and he had a lot to learn about hiding his emotions. “I don’t think she is.” Before Klink could deny it again, he pressed on. “‘I’ll be taking care of him soon enough. A couple shots ought to be enough to put him down, don’t you think?’” It was, admittedly, a low blow to use his own words against him, but Hogan wasn’t above using the occasional sucker punch.

Klink’s ashen face managed to pale further. “I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t tell me you’re ready to kill someone who hasn’t done anything to you,” Hogan needled, not giving the Commandant a chance to insult his intelligence.

“Please, Hogan,” Klink whispered, sounding desperate and looking brittle, “I can’t. I can’t discuss this with you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Hogan set down his cards and leaned forward, showing Klink he had his full attention.

“Both,” Klink answered, his voice filled with distress. “You don’t have any idea what you’re asking me.” He shook his head and suddenly seemed very old. “I don’t know why you’re acting like you care, but I—” Cutting himself off, he shook his head again. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“Well enough alone?” Hogan repeated with some heat, feeling his earlier irritation returning despite his efforts to keep cool. “I don’t think that’s the phrase _I’d_ use for this situation.” When Klink made no move to speak, he felt his temper rise even higher. Was Klink really that bound and determined to be obstinate? Was he really that eager to throw his life away? “For God’s sake, Klink, you told me you were going to kill yourself! Do you _want_ to die?”

“Of course not!” Klink snapped, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “But I don’t have a choice.”

Hogan could not believe his ears. “What do you mean you don’t have a choice? There’s _always_ a choice!” It was only after he’d said this that he realized it was probably the wrong thing to say to a man in Klink’s position. For him, there had only been two choices; Hogan could grudgingly admit that now. What he couldn’t understand was why the man was so set on death when he’d picked life before. What had changed?

Klink’s answering laughter was harsh and hollow. “Really? Is that what you think?” He grinned, but there was nothing mirthful in the expression. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.” Hogan was very careful not to make this sound like a demand. He sensed he was on the verge of a break through and pushing too hard now would cost him. “It might make you feel better to get it all off your chest.”

Tears dripped down Klink’s face, but he didn’t appear to notice them. “Since when do you care about how I feel?” Despite the angry words, he sounded plaintive. “You keep saying you don’t want me to die, but I don’t understand why it should make any difference to you.” He didn’t quite smile. “You don’t even like me.”

Hogan frowned and tried very hard not to take the affront to his character personally. “Sir, I’d have to hate you a lot not to give a damn that you’re planning to off yourself, and I don’t hate you that much.” He narrowed his eyes, feeling annoyed all over again for having to repeat himself. “If I say I don’t want you to die, I mean it.” Shaking his head, he couldn’t keep himself from adding: “You must have such a high opinion of me to think I’d lie about something like this.”

“I didn’t realize my opinion meant anything to you, Colonel,” Klink retorted mildly, wiping his face with the back of his free hand. Before Hogan could reply, his expression shifted into a mixture of melancholy and bitterness. “I’m afraid that I’m not feeling very trusting these days.” He huffed a little chuckle. “Of course, I’m not sure why I _ever_ trust you. I should know by now that you’re inherently untrustworthy.”

Making an outraged face, Hogan wasn’t able to summon any actual outrage. Klink had no way of knowing just how many times Hogan had pulled his fat out of the fire. “Now, that really hurts, sir. I’ll have you know—”

“I just don’t understand why you’re here,” Klink murmured in a drowsy whine. “All I can think is that, that you’re getting something. If I live you’re getting something.” He shook his head. “Not that I can see what you could possibly be getting out of this. But if that’s not it, why do you care? You’ve never shown me any real concern before.” Concentrating on Hogan, his watery eyes were pleading. “I just want to know the truth—is that too much to ask for?”

Maybe not too much, but it was a lot. Never mind that honesty was something he liked to use sparingly with the Commandant, Hogan wasn’t sure if he could put his reasons for wanting Klink to live into words. Truth be told, he hadn’t given much thought to any particular reasons he had. Much like his decision to keep the Klink business from the men, trying to keep Klink from killing himself seemed like a natural choice.

When a man’s out on a window ledge, isn’t it everyone’s first impulse to bring him back in?

No. Hogan wasn’t naive enough to believe it was, but he was still idealistic enough to believe it ought to be.

He was also a little surprised by Klink’s insight. Yes, he _was_ getting something out of this; preserving enemies just because wasn’t what his organization was all about. As much as Klink seemed to forget it from time to time, they _were_ still on opposite sides. If he was going to be completely truthful, saving the Commandant was a means to an end. A worthwhile end, to be sure, but an end nonetheless.

Dim as Klink was at times, clearly, he could be more perceptive than Hogan had given him credit for.

“Just go away.” The Commandant’s command lacked the snap of an actual order, making him sound more like a petulant child than a Colonel. “I’m done playing these games with you.” As he spoke, he piled up his cards and carefully set them on the table. From the look on his face, Hogan understood Fish wasn’t the only game he was done playing.

Hogan was getting a little tired of the games himself. How many times would he and Klink have to have this exchange? “Sir,—”

“I’m still speaking English, aren’t I?” Klink pushed himself up and swayed, looking equal parts tired and angry. “I don’t care where you go or what you do as long as you are somewhere else.” He pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Now, leave.”

Standing, Hogan was determined to give this one last try. “Before I do that, can I just say one thing?”

Klink’s arm fell back against his side, and he glared. “Why bother asking me? You always seem to do whatever it is you please anyway.”

Probably as close to a yes as he could expect to get. While Hogan was uncomfortable with the idea of being honest with the Commandant, he decided, considering what he wanted Klink to share with him, it was only fair to give him a little honesty in return. If he could do that, preferably without embarrassing himself or sharing too much, he might be able to salvage this.

As he couldn’t claim any overtones of friendship (Klink would think he was lying and wouldn’t be wrong to think so), he figured there was little harm in confirming the Commandant’s suspicion that Hogan was indeed ‘getting something’. It would be honest, and it would keep this on a professional level—both very big pluses in Hogan’s mind.

“Okay, you’ve got me. I do want something out of this.” 

Horror flickered across Klink’s face, and he half shook his head. “Wh-what do you want?”

Hogan frowned, wondering what part of what he’d said warranted that sort of reaction. “I can’t go into any details,” he noticed Klink’s glare making a return appearance and pressed on, “but let it suffice to say that if you were no longer Commandant of Stalag 13, it would make things difficult for me.”

Klink’s glare became a look of narrow eyed mystification, and Hogan wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. 

“The point is,” he continued, “I’d like to keep you around. So, if there’s something I can do to make that happen, I’d like to help.”

“Keep me around?” Klink shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, looking ill. Then shook his head sharply, and when he focused on Hogan again, he seemed very tired. “Let me see if I understand. You want to help me because my death would be inconvenient for you?” His tone was incredulous with a hint of something Hogan couldn’t quite place. “ _That’s_ why you’re here now?”

Hogan didn’t wince, but it was a close thing. When Klink put it so bluntly, it really did sound terrible. He was concerned with Klink’s welfare because he’d be _inconvenienced_?

Well, he’d never claimed to be a saint, had he? He’d never claimed to be the great humanitarian! The Commandant was not his friend; he was just useful sometimes, and that was all. Let Kinch be a bleeding heart if he wanted to. Unlike _some_ people around this place, Hogan couldn’t afford to be so sentimental—he had a job to do here. That job didn’t include coddling Klink.

“Is that it?”

And what right did that man have to sound so, so damn disappointed in _him_? _He_ wasn’t the one who’d agreed to be Adler’s whore. _He_ wasn’t the one who’d been too cowardly to fight back. _He_ wasn’t the one who was trying to take the easy way out now! That damn—

Seeing the other man’s face pale once again, Hogan realized his fists were clenched. He forced himself to calm down. It wasn’t Klink’s fault that what he’d said hadn’t painted him in a very flattering light. It bothered him—perhaps, he ought to be grateful it bothered him so much—but it wasn’t anything he could pin on the Commandant. Hogan wasn’t usually one to blame others for his own failings anyway—he was a doer!

If he didn’t want to think he was the kind of man he’d just made himself out to be (and he really didn’t think he was), it was up to _him_ to do something about it. And frustratingly enough, now that he was giving it some thought, he wasn’t sure just how much truth _was_ in what he’d just said. 

For the moment though, he had no choice but to finish what he’d started here. Klink, whose expression was an interesting combination of terror and disappointment, was still waiting for an answer. Hogan owed him that much even if he wasn’t sure he was actually telling the truth. “It doesn’t sound good when you put it that way,” Hogan said at last, not having to manufacture the self depreciation in his tone. He shrugged apologetically. “I guess I’m out of the running for sainthood.”

A ghost of a smile touched Klink’s mouth. “I’d say so,” he agreed. Then the ghost faded, and he looked merely sad. “At least now I know where I stand with you.”

Hogan wished he could say the same (wondering at the same time just _where_ the Commandant thought he stood), but he kept the thoughts to himself. If he was going to be honest again, he wanted to make sure he actually knew what the truth was before opening his mouth. Besides, there was such a thing as too much honesty. Which was an interesting thing to think considering what he was going to say. “Well, sir, I always say honesty is the best policy,” he declared as he retook his seat.

That earned him a startled chuckle. “You? I find that very hard to believe.” Klink sat down slowly and winced when he came to rest on the couch.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a paragon of virtue.” He’d considered asking the obvious question before deciding the answer was equally obvious. “So, what _is_ going on, Commandant?”

Klink sighed and resettled his monocle. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why can’t you?” Hogan prodded gently, knowing he had to be extra careful now. He was loath to lose what little ground he’d gained so quickly.

“I just can’t,” Klink said, gathering up the cards he’d set down earlier.

“Klink?” When Hogan got his attention, he took a deep breath and used his most reasonable tone. “I know I’m probably not your first choice for confidant, but I’m better than nothing.”

Klink considered him for a long moment before giving him a weak smile. “Even if I wanted to tell you, which I don’t, but if I did, I wouldn’t want to discuss it like this anyway. If I was going to talk about this, I’d want to be sober.” Faint amusement shown in his eyes, and he spoke with a mock reproachful tone. “It’s not fair to take advantage of someone when they’re drunk, Hogan.”

Fairness was a vague term. Perhaps it wouldn’t be fair, but that wouldn’t keep Hogan from giving it a shot. Even if it didn’t work, it might get his foot in the door for the next time he had a chance to chat with the Commandant. “I’ll hold you to that, sir,” he said gravely as he picked up his own cards again.

“Hmm?” Klink blinked muzzily. “Hold me to what?”

“That you’ll tell me what this is all about when you’re sober.” Shrugging, Hogan rearranged his cards. “I’m willing to wait until tomorrow.”

Looking out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to gaze intently at his hand, he watched Klink open and close his mouth like a gasping trout. “But—But I—” 

Hogan shook his head with disapproval, refusing to feel the slightest bit guilty for trying to pull the wool over the Commandant’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so, and this was for the man’s own good besides. “Now, sir, a promise is a promise.”

“B-but I didn’t make any promises!” Klink finally exclaimed, waving his free hand in agitation. His tone was certain, but his eyes showed a hint of doubt.

Hogan seized on it. “Yes, you did,” he lied, running a finger over the tops of his cards. “I remember distinctly: ‘I’ll discuss it with you when I’m sober; I promise’.” Glancing up, he made a concerned face. “You haven’t forgotten already, have you, Commandant?”

Something like desperation rippled across Klink’s features. His lips moved slightly as he blinked and frowned. After what seemed like a long spell of this, the other man slowly shook his head, his brow furrowed with worry and uncertainty. “No. I-I haven’t forgotten.”

“You’re not planning to go back on your word, are you?” Hogan knew he was laying this on a bit thick, but he hoped, if he really cemented this in Klink’s mind, that the Commandant wouldn’t figure out he’d been tricked. Whether or not this worked depended on a lot of things Hogan had no control over, but he was determined to do his part.

“I, ah, I-I guess not.” Klink still seemed to have lingering doubts, but he shrugged helplessly. “A promise is a promise, I suppose.” He grimaced as he stared down at his cards. “I’m sure there’s no way you can think any less of me than I do.”

This last was spoken so softly that Hogan doubted he’d been meant to hear it. Still, it seemed like a strange thing for him to say, and Hogan filed it away to discuss with Kinch later. At the moment, even if he was going to wait before trying to get Klink to talk to him about Adler, he still had to make sure the man didn’t do anything permanent in the meantime.

After scanning his cards, Hogan picked out the ten of clubs and set it on the table. “It’s your turn.”

* * *

When Klink had begged exhaustion an hour or so later, Hogan left without argument. Considering he’d dozed off four times during their last game, he’d felt confident the Commandant’s claim of just wanting some sleep was genuine. The man certainly looked like he could use some.

Closing the quarter’s door behind him, Hogan’s eyes swept around the office. He noticed the broken picture frames on the floor but let his eyes pass over them without a pause. He was looking for something else, and after another second or two, he found what he was looking for. Regarding it for a long moment, he came to a decision. Another temporary fix but it was all he could do about that problem until tomorrow.

Once he’d finished, he walked out of the office and was glad to see Hilda was too busy filing things to notice he’d opened the door. He wasn’t interested in explaining how his ‘it’ll only take a couple minutes, I swear’ meeting with the Commandant had lasted almost two hours. Carefully, calling on all of his stealth, he snuck passed her and exited the office building.

Out in the compound, he let himself breathe out a long sigh and relax. There wasn’t much time to relax, however, because he knew he still had to brief the men. He’d waited too long to do so already and waiting any longer would just make things more difficult. Hogan only hoped, as he made his way to Barracks 2, that they wouldn’t make him wish he was still in Klink’s quarters playing Fish.


	24. A Friendly Bunkside Chat

“There you are, sir!” Kinch said as soon as Hogan entered the barracks. The mock scolding in his tone was lined with some real worry, which told Hogan that the radioman was in his mother hen mode. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get back.”

Hogan stuck his hands in his pockets and quirked an eyebrow. As though Kinch didn’t know why he’d taken so long with Klink! “It couldn’t be helped. Things got a little complicated.”

The humor left Kinch’s face. “What happened?”

“You don’t know?” They’d still been in the office when Klink had had his outburst so he should know what complications he was talking about already. Hogan found it hard to believe Kinch hadn’t been listening in—especially after having him make that promise earlier.

“Well, sir, I _did_ have other things to do besides eavesdrop on you.” Kinch smiled slightly and shrugged. “I figured you’d be able to hold your own.”

There was an apology there, and Hogan accepted it with a smile of his own. “I won’t lie, Kinch, it got a bit dicey there for a minute or two.” He looked around and saw the barracks were abandoned except for Corporals Johnson and Foster quietly playing cards on one of the bunks. “Where is everyone?”

“Volleyball tournament.”

Hogan nodded. It wasn’t quite the right season for volleyball but that had never stopped the men before. They were very dedicated players. “Who’d they rope into being the referee?” Realizing what he was doing, he shook his head. “Never mind. Round up Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter. We might as well get this over with.”

* * *

Order going to deed, ten minutes later found the five of them in Hogan’s office. From where he stood, in front of the table, Hogan took a moment to consider each man in turn. LeBeau stood in front of the door with his arms lightly crossed. Newkirk leaned against the side of the bunk, wearing the affected expression of boredom that indicated his interest. Carter was seated on the bunk itself and seemed confused. Kinch, who stood beside Hogan, gave Hogan a look of encouragement.

“The Commandant is being blackmailed by General Adler,” Hogan began without preamble, seeing no point in stalling. “Adler doesn’t actually have anything on him, but he’s threatened to inform the Gestapo that Klink’s involved in a plot to assassinate old Adolf. As paranoid as the authorities are, I figure he could convince them pretty easily.”

Nods from Newkirk and LeBeau. 

Carter’s face screwed up for a split second before relaxing in realization. “You and Kinch were talking about that yesterday, weren’t you, sir?” He narrowed his eyes, puzzled. “But why didn’t you tell us then? I mean, Klink’s been blackmailed before, and you’ve told us.”

“That’s where it gets a little complicated,” Hogan said slowly, trying to think of how was the best way to put this. “Kinch and I actually learned of this two days ago.” Holding up his hand to forestall any more questions, he pressed on. “The reason I waited until now to share this information has to do with the, ah, _nature_ of Adler’s demand.” He took off his hat, fiddling with its brim, and admitted to himself the reason he was doing it was so he didn’t have to look at their faces. “It’s … fairly disgusting.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Kinch offered softly, not sounding particularly eager for the task himself.

Hogan was grateful for the offer but shook his head. As tempting as it was to lay this on Kinch’s shoulders, it wouldn’t be fair. Hogan was the commanding officer here. No, he’d just have to come out and say it, and he might as well say it as plainly as possible because there were no words that could possibly make it sound better. He just wanted to get this over with. “Adler wanted Klink to have sex with him in exchange for not telling the Gestapo any tales, and Klink agreed to do it.”

Silence. Hogan put his hat back on before looking up.

LeBeau’s mouth hung open, and he seemed ill. Newkirk’s poker face had crumbled into an expression of apoplectic shock. Carter just looked even more confused than he had before.

“You, you want to run that by me again, sir?” Newkirk asked at last with the clear hope that he’d heard incorrectly. “Because I think you just said the Commandant agreed to sleep with a bloke.”

Hogan smiled thinly. “Your hearing is as good as ever, Newkirk.”

Finally, LeBeau found his voice as well. “Why would anyone want to have sex with _Klink_?” he demanded of the room at large, sounding sickened from having to think of the question, let alone having to ask it. “If the _boche_ wanted to blackmail someone for that, why choose someone so old?” He shook his head, almost appalled. “Klink isn’t even very attractive.”

Newkirk’s mouth twisted into something that could have been a grin if not for the sheer incredulity in his eyes. “‘Not very attractive’? When did you start looking? Don’t tell me _you’re_ queer!”

The Frenchman scowled. “Just because I like women doesn’t mean I cannot tell an attractive man from an unattractive one. I’m not _blind_.” He thrust his chin in the air, somehow managing to stare down his nose at the taller man, and spoke with a haughty tone. “I only meant I would think the General would be more picky—the Commandant is no prize.”

“But how could that even work?” Carter looked as bewildered as he sounded. “I mean, Klink’s a fella, and Adler’s … well, he sure doesn’t look like a girl to me, sir!”

Before Hogan could decide whether or not he should try answering their questions or if he should just continue on for the moment, Newkirk took a seat next to Carter and clasped his hands together, his eyes alight with wicked glee. “Well, Andrew, when a poofter and a fairy love each other very much—”

“Belay that,” Hogan snapped, deciding this was all getting a little out of hand (and that he _really_ wasn’t interested in hearing Newkirk explain homosexual relations to Carter). “This is not a joke, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat it like one.”

The Englishman stood in one fluid motion, irritated “Begging your pardon, sir, but what does Klink turning tricks have to do with us?” He put his hands on his hips and looked around, addressing his words to everyone. “I say, it seems to me, he’s made his own bed here. If he wants to sleep in it with Adler, it’s no business of mine.”

“ _Oui_ , why do we need to know about this?” LeBeau agreed as he sat down on the bunk with Carter. “What difference does it make who Klink is taking to bed?” He grimaced. “I would rather not think about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Carter asked LeBeau quietly.

“Does seem a little strange to me,” Newkirk remarked with a puzzled frown, drawing Hogan’s attention away from Carter and LeBeau’s lowered voices. “Always knew the Commandant was a nutter, but I never figured him for a poof.”

“We don’t have any reason to believe Klink’s actually a homosexual,” Kinch pointed out, clear disapproval in his tone, “and it wouldn’t make a difference if he was.”

Newkirk raised an eyebrow. “No? I’d think it’d make a lot of difference. How else do you explain him agreeing to bump uglies with Adler?”

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. He could remember when he’d had the same exact thought—though his language hadn’t been as colorful—and it felt strange to hear from someone else’s mouth now. He felt almost chagrined that he’d ever thought it.

“He ‘agreed’,” Kinch gave the word a biting emphasis, “because Adler was going to throw him to the Gestapo if he refused. You ought to know by now that Klink would do anything to save his skin.”

“Maybe he ought to have been more concerned with saving his bum,” Newkirk quipped unkindly.

“What!” Carter blurted, his face flushed with embarrassment.

LeBeau jerked away from him, rubbing his ear and muttering French curses under his breath.

The younger man seemed too stunned to notice either LeBeau’s discomfort or the fact his outcry had made him the focus of everyone else’s attention. “Is that really true? People really do that?” He sounded very much like he thought the Frenchman might be having him on.

Slightly amused but mostly annoyed, LeBeau nodded.

Carter’s mouth hung open. Clearly, he was having a hard time processing what he’d heard. Finally, his nose wrinkled and his eyes wide, he whispered, “But doesn’t that _hurt_?”

“How should I know?” LeBeau asked as he stood again, a little put out and, maybe, a bit insulted. “I was never interested enough to find out _personally_.” 

Newkirk chuckled. “So, that’s how it is,” he teased. “You don’t like getting buggered—you just like to _look_ at the blokes.”

“Listen, you stupid—!”

“That’s enough!” Hogan barked, deciding he’d heard all he needed to hear and that it was passed time for him to get this briefing back on track. Crossing his arms, he leveled them with a stern glare. “If you all could stop acting like children for a few minutes, I’d like to finish what I have to say.” He watched them stare back at him with varying degrees of sheepishness and wondered what exactly he’d like to say to them. How could he explain in a few sentences what had taken him days and several uncomfortably enlightening experiences to sort of understand?

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect them to understand. He could hardly claim he understood everything about this mess, and he’d been thinking of little else for days. Their reactions weren’t so much different than his own had been when he’d first learned of the Commandant’s trouble; maybe they just needed some time. They could have all the time they wanted, too, because it wasn’t as though any of them had to be prepared to have a heart to heart with Klink!

Really, they didn’t really have to understand it as long as they agreed to support whatever crazy scheme he came up with to deal with this mess. “The problem, and why I’m telling you about this at all, is that Adler has decided to try getting Klink transferred to Berlin. I don’t think I should have to tell anyone why that should concern us.”

No one seemed to have any confusion on that point. “Kinch and I heard this much listening in this morning.” He hesitated, unsure whether or not he should tell them what had happened in Klink’s office before he came here. On one hand, it would be nice to get _everything_ out on the table. On the other, it wasn’t as though there was anything any of them could do about it.

Before he could decide, Kinch made his choice for him. “Sir, you said that things got a little complicated before. What did you mean by that?”

Seeing the new curiosity on the men’s faces, Hogan figured he might as well tell them this, too. “Klink has decided to make his own arrangements as to what to do about that transfer.” He half-smiled at his radioman. “I owe you an apology, Kinch. You warned me he might want to do something drastic, and I didn’t listen to you.”

There was no need to elaborate: Kinch understood at once. “You mean he’s actually planning to kill himself?” He took no obvious pleasure in being correct.

Hogan nodded. “And Adler, too. That seemed really important to him.”

Kinch seemed startled to say the least. “He _told_ you that?”

Despite himself, Hogan grinned. “If by ‘told’, you mean ‘pointed a loaded pistol at my chest and ranted at me’, then, yes, he told me.”

LeBeau was immediately by his side. “Are you hurt, _Colonel_?”

“I’m fine,” Hogan assured him, waving away the concern. “Klink was just a little, uh, excitable, and I don’t always know when to stop pushing.” Which reminded him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the key he’d swiped earlier. “Newkirk,” he tossed it to the Englishman, who caught it easily, “hide this somewhere.”

Newkirk examined the key with a small frown. “What’s this?”

“That’s the key to the Commandant’s desk, and I’d rather he didn’t find it until after this all blows over. I don’t think it’s wise to give him easy access to a gun for the time being.”

“That won’t stop him if he’s really determined,” Kinch warned softly.

“I know,” Hogan acknowledged, “but I’m hoping this might slow him down a bit. It’ll make it more difficult to take Adler out at least, and he’d seemed awfully keen on that point.”

Kinch frowned and seemed about to say something else when LeBeau interrupted with a question of his own.

“But why should Klink want to kill himself _or_ Adler? Even if was blackmail, it could have been worse. Adler isn’t unattractive—” he shot Newkirk a dirty look which the other man ignored, “—for a German pig.”

“And, sure, doing, uh, well, what Louis said doesn’t sound like much fun, but he’s already done it, right? You said he did yesterday,” Carter added.

Newkirk made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a groan as he pocketed the key but only shook his head as though thoroughly disgusted with the line of discussion. 

Hogan decided to address Carter’s question first because it had the simplest answer. “He did, but … apparently, Adler wants to keep doing it.” The thought turned his stomach, but he forced himself to continue. “From what Kinch and I heard him say this morning, that’s basically the whole reason he wants to transfer Klink to Berlin at all: easy access.”

“You mean...? Oh.” Carter’s face paled before taking on an interesting green shade. “Jeeze.”

Then Hogan turned his attention to LeBeau. “While I’m sure it could have been worse,” although, honestly, he wasn’t sure how, “I doubt Adler’s physical attractiveness makes much of a difference as far as the Commandant is concerned.” The conversation he’d overheard this morning rang in his ears, and he remembered only too well the unclean feeling he’d had just from listening to it. “Let’s just say, even for the Gestapo, this guy’s a nasty piece of work.”

Sweeping his gaze across the three men, he continued on. “I’ll be doing what I can on my end to keep the Commandant among the living. As for the transfer, I haven’t decided what to do yet beyond having Baker make sure no one can call out for a while. But when I do come up with something, I need to know I’ve got your support.”

“You can count on me, sir.”

“I’m in, governor.”

“ _Et moi, Colonel_.”

Hogan smiled. He’d known already that they were good men—too good to let him down when he needed them—, but the confirmation of their continued support was welcome. “Thank you.” Then he put on one of the more serious expressions at his disposal. “For now, I want to keep this Klink business under wraps. I don’t want to hear so much as a whisper that anything unusual is going on. Got it?”

Nods all around. Whatever their reservations, these men were professionals. Not that he’d had any serious doubts on that score. Although, the earlier trading of insults had been a little worrying.

“Good,” he clapped his hands together, feeling some relief now that the end was in sight. “Are there any questions?”

“I have one,” Newkirk announced, crossing his arms. “What was all that escape business about last night? And don’t tell me London had anything to do with it—I did some asking around after you left because it all sounded a bit dodgy to me.” He smirked, almost preening. “Baker was on the radio all day, and he hadn’t heard a thing about it.”

“That’s why you were asking _André_ all those questions!” exclaimed LeBeau.

“I figured I could find out what was really going on from him,” he confirmed, obviously proud he’d thought to do so. Then he slumped with disappointment. “And all he could tell me was that the Commandant was acting barmy.” He frowned at Hogan. “So, what was that escape really for?”

Hogan hesitated because answering that question would lead to other questions he didn’t feel prepared to answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t see where there was much of a choice except to finish what he’d started here. “It was for Klink. He offered me some wallpaper in exchange for an excuse to get out of camp.” Which reminded him he’d never actually talked to Hilda about getting any. Of course, there had been other things on his mind, and it wasn’t as though he actually needed it anymore. “He’d told me that he had a meeting with Adler he’d rather miss, and since Klink couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag, I was inclined to believe him.” He shook his head. “Not that it made any difference.”

Carter raised his hand. “But why was he acting so weird last night? He kept watching me.”

“Maybe he’s on the lookout for fresh meat,” Newkirk suggested, his tone not entirely sarcastic. Then he smiled evilly “I’m sure _Louis_ would agree that you’re a choice bit.

While LeBeau sputtered, the younger man didn’t take the bait. Whether that was because he was too focused on his own words to acknowledge what Newkirk had said or because he just hadn’t gotten the not quite a joke, Hogan couldn’t decide. “He was watching me like he couldn’t trust me.” Carter blushed and revised the statement. “I mean, of course he shouldn’t trust me—I’m a prisoner!—but it was like he _really_ didn’t trust me. Like he was afraid of me or something.” Then he frowned at Newkirk. “Fresh meat? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t listen to him,” LeBeau sniffed disdainfully, putting a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “ _Il est un imbécile_.” He gave Newkirk a wicked smile of his own. “And I am starting to think he might be protesting too much.”

Seeing Newkirk’s face darken, Hogan knew he had to step in before this could escalate any further. He’d had just about enough of them sniping at each other like irrational children over this. “Newkirk, LeBeau, that’s enough! I’ve already said I didn’t want this to be treated like a joke, and I meant it.” After taking a moment to make sure both were at least making an attempt to look properly chastised, he turned his attention to Carter. “To answer your question, you’re not the only one he’s afraid of.”

Newkirk snorted. “He’s always been a bleeding coward; that’s nothing new.”

“You should’ve seen him, though,” Carter argued. “He actually stopped breathing when the Colonel touched him. Even when he gets real nervous, he doesn’t act like that.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

Hogan didn’t know where to even start answering the implied question. “That’s kind of complicated.” Truth be told, he really didn’t get it himself. Sure, having sex with Adler couldn’t be very pleasant, considering how much trouble Klink was having getting around, and, yes, Adler seemed quick to get physical with his displeasure, but as to why that should have any bearing on the way Klink behaved around other people—

“Do you want me to take it from here?” Kinch asked. While it couldn’t be said he sounded very eager, he certainly didn’t sound averse to the idea.

It took a fair amount of will power for Hogan not to express his gratitude for the out in an embarrassingly juvenile way such as jumping up and down. “Knock yourself out,” he said calmly. “I’m just going to go out and get some air.” He’d heard all this before, and he had other things to think about. Also, he was almost positive he didn’t want to know what the men’s reactions would be to Kinch’s theory. Recalling how reluctant he’d been to give it any credence—how still reluctant he was—, he returned his focus to their direction and fixed them with a stern look. “You don’t have to agree with Kinch, but I expect you to be civil, all right?”

Once he’d had their assurances that they’d be on their best behavior, Hogan beat a hasty retreat out of his office. Corporal’s Foster and Johnson were gone now, but he didn’t sit down. As a man of action, Hogan always thought better on his feet.

And he knew the barracks weren’t nearly big enough for all the ground he had to cover.

Outside of the barracks, the air was just a little too cool to take a leisurely stroll around the compound, but Hogan needed the space to move. He needed to think this all through, and there wasn’t any more time left to put it off. Kinch’s sister’s friend had lasted a month; Hogan doubted if Klink would make it through the week at the rate he was going. Even though it had only been two days, the man clearly wasn’t doing well.

Hogan picked a direction and started walking. Damned if he could understand _why_ Klink was having such a hard time of things though. He could understand why Klink was afraid of Adler, but he just couldn’t see why that fear should extend to Schultz or Kruger or Carter.

What did he think he had to fear from them? _Or from me?_ Hogan added silently. Klink was afraid of him, too. But _why_? He’d never used physical threats on the Commandant, and yet Klink still acted like Hogan was going to hit him. It didn’t make any sense.

_‘But it all fits: not liking to be touched, being emotional, afraid of men, that episode you described—she acted just like that after she’d been raped.’_

All right, so it only didn’t make any sense to _him_ ; it seemed to make perfect sense to Kinch. However, Hogan was finding it hard to believe Kinch was right about that part. Or even if it mattered if he was. Maybe Klink hadn’t had a lot of options, but to let Adler use him like that... He should have fought it. If only he hadn’t been such a coward! If he would have just refused—

 _—he’d be dead right now,_ an inner voice sneered, _or as good as dead. If that’s what you want, you might as well let him kill himself—that’s what you always wanted him to do, wasn’t it? Better to be dead than to submit to that monster, right? Finally, he’s going to be a man about it—aren’t you proud?_

Lips turning downward, Hogan glared into the middle distance, annoyed with himself. Klink was a coward; that was a simple fact. But just because he’d been a coward when it came to Adler’s blackmail, had he been wrong to want to live at that cost? As Kinch had said, it wasn’t as though he’d offered up an alternative sacrificial lamb to Adler in exchange—Klink was the only one who’d had to pay, and he’d been willing to to save himself. For Klink, his life had obviously been more important than the dishonor of letting Adler have his way with him.

Hogan had never wanted to see him dead, and he didn’t want to see him kill himself now, so why did the fact Klink had wanted to live badly enough to go through what he’d went through bother him so much? Because a man should be willing—no, was obligated!—to fight to the death to save his honor even if there was no way to win? Because Klink had been willing to trade his honor for his life instead of the other way around?

But what did either of those questions have to do with Hogan personally? Not a thing. Klink hadn’t made the choice Hogan would have, but he and Klink were two different people. Klink had obviously made the choice he’d thought was best, and he’d had to deal with the aftermath ever since. It wasn’t Hogan’s place to pass judgment on the man—the only one who’d been hurt by Klink’s choice had been Klink. Hogan had no right to cast aspersions on him regardless of what he thought he should have done.

Of course, that being the case, now that Klink wanted to die, was it Hogan’s place to interfere? Maybe he’d be wrong to try—the Commandant had the right to make his own decisions, didn’t he? If Klink wanted to commit suicide, then—

Well, that wasn’t quite right. Klink hadn’t said he _wanted_ to die—far from it taking into account the vehemence of his ‘of course not’ when Hogan had asked—but that he had no choice _but_ to. Considering what he’d been willing to give up before to keep himself safe from the Gestapo, for him to think suicide was his only option... Things must look pretty grim to him. Either that or he was so thirsty for Adler’s blood he was willing to trade his life to ‘put him down’.

Both were fairly disturbing propositions, and Hogan didn’t have enough information to decide which had the most to do with Klink’s plans.

He kicked a stone in his path and watched it skitter in front of him. Assuming Klink kept the promise he hadn’t made, he might be able to get that information out of the man tomorrow. Although, to his shame, he hadn’t given Klink much incentive to discuss the matter with him. Trying to keep it all on a professional level, knowing how personal the secret the Commandant was hiding was, had been very stupid of him. No wonder Klink had sounded hurt and had been unwilling to talk! It would take a lot of hard work to salvage the situation—if he even could at this point.

The hole he’d dug for himself during that conversation was made even more pointless by virtue of the fact that what he’d told Klink simply wasn’t true. If only this was about convenience! Things would be so much simpler if it was.

But it wasn’t, so it wasn’t. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Klink managed to get himself killed. He wasn’t an overly sentimental man, but it wasn’t as though Klink was some stranger. This was someone he saw every day. Someone he knew. Sometimes, Hogan thought he knew the Commandant better than anyone else did.

Of course, this wasn’t knowledge he’d gained because he’d liked the man enough to want to know him better. The only reason he’d gained this knowledge was that being able to guess Klink’s responses was useful. The balancing act he had to maintain was more difficult than it looked but well worth the rewards. And, dare he say it?, it was almost fun. Manipulating the Commandant had become something of a hobby to him, and at times, he could play the man brilliantly.

That was part of the problem with the convenience theory. Ever since Adler, Hogan couldn’t predict with much accuracy how his words would be taken or what might set the Commandant off. Klink was unstable, unpredictable, and dangerous. Sure, he hadn’t really believed for more than a second that the Commandant would actually shoot him, but recalling how badly Klink had been shaking by then, he might have done so by accident.

The incident had given Hogan little choice but to accept Kinch had been right about this much: Klink couldn’t handle his problems on his own and just having Adler out of the picture probably wouldn’t be enough to set him to rights again. If Kinch was as right about what it would take to keep the Commandant here and sane, simply feigning a sympathetic ear as he had in the past wouldn’t be enough. Klink needed a confidant and that required a level of honesty and openness from Hogan which was problematic at _best_.

Sympathizing with the enemy wasn’t exactly something he ought to be doing as an American soldier. Giving aid and comfort to the enemy was likewise frowned upon. As natural a decision it seemed to want to save Klink’s life, Klink _was_ the enemy. It told Hogan something about either the situation or how unthreatening the Commandant was that Kinch would even suggest this line of action in the first place. It told Hogan something about himself that he hadn’t even considered this problem before now.

_Hello, conflict of interest!_

Starting from scratch with a new Commandant wouldn’t be _easy_ —the new man might not be as easy to fool or as willing to turn a blind eye—, and it would take time, but it wouldn’t be beyond Hogan’s skill. There could be some problems if Klink’s replacement was a true dyed in the wool Party member, but as deeply entrenched as his operation was, this too could be dealt with. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had died or ‘disappeared mysteriously’. Hell, if Adler hadn’t been with the Gestapo, he might have just ‘disappeared’ himself. That would have been very … satisfying, actually.

Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Whatever difficulties he’d face with Klink’s death, excepting an absolute worst case scenario, it’d be easier (and considering the possible conflict of interest in this case, maybe ‘better’ as well) to start from scratch rather than to pull Klink back from the edge.

If this was about convenience, he might as well cut his losses, and let the Commandant revenge himself on Adler. Letting the man die the way he’d chosen would be fair compensation for all that unrealized service. Klink couldn’t be used as effectively now (and, maybe, never again) so what was the point in getting involved? You couldn’t afford to get too sentimental about your tools—when a tool gets broken, the only thing it’s good for is being thrown away.

Klink was the enemy anyway; his death, if not a cause for celebration, shouldn’t make much of a difference to him.

As pragmatic a soul as Hogan was, this line of thought was still a bit too ruthless for his liking. It was one thing to recognize how and when people could be useful and to exploit them; it was another entirely to believe people only existed to be used. Equating the Commandant with a broken ratchet or the like to be tossed left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even if Klink _was_ a stupid coward, he didn’t deserve to be thought of as a thing.

And even though Klink _was_ on the opposite side of the war, Hogan had a very hard time dredging up any of the feelings that went with the label ‘enemy’. He’d never hated the Commandant, and he’d never wanted him dead.

So, why _did_ he want to keep Klink around? It certainly wasn’t for those lovely violin solos! Maybe it didn’t have to do with Klink per se—maybe it was just good old fashioned human compassion on his part. As much as the Commandant annoyed him, Hogan hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t hate the man enough not to care he was planning to kill himself.

Although, it was awfully hard to feel _too_ sorry for Klink when he’d been stupid enough to get caught in Adler’s blackmail and then too cowardly to do anything about it.

Hogan frowned, feeling more than a little annoyed with himself for thinking this again. Never mind that it wasn’t his place to judge the man, if there _had_ been some way out of that mess with Adler other than eventual death by Gestapo, _he_ still couldn’t think of it. About the only alternative he could come up with was Klink jumping into a staff car and driving off. That wasn’t a very feasible alternative, however, because there was nowhere for him to go, and it wasn’t as though he had the money or the connections to get him out of the country. In the end, considering the Commandant’s competence in just about every other area, he’d be caught sooner rather than later and dealt with for deserting.

While that might have only meant dishonorable discharge and a prison sentence, Hogan doubted Adler would have been satisfied with that punishment. He’d probably go to the Gestapo with his assassination plot story out of spite.

But there should have been _something_ Klink could have—

Hogan swore forcefully under his breath. What was wrong with him—his mind kept skipping grooves like a scratched record! Why was it so hard for him to believe Klink had done the only thing he could have done? Why was that so hard for him to accept when he couldn’t think of any viable alternatives, no matter how hard he tried? If _he_ couldn’t come up with anything, how could he fault Klink for not being able to come up with anything either?

Was it truly so important for him to be able to pin this on the Commandant? Was it really that disturbing to think this mess _wasn’t_ the man’s fault?

More importantly, was he willing to ignore his own reasoning and throw away his logic just so he could keep on believing Klink deserved all this? Was he really that reluctant to admit he’d been wrong?

He stopped short and closed his eyes. Even if he never said it to anyone else, he had to admit that much to himself. Part of being a leader was acknowledging mistakes and learning from them; if he couldn’t bring himself to do that, then _he_ was the stupid coward here. Hogan was many things, but while he’d had his share of stupid moments, he’d never been a coward.

And he refused to start being one now.

Hogan opened his eyes and continued on his way, not really caring where his feet took him as long as he was moving. When Kinch had first shared his rape theory with him, Hogan had categorically rejected it because he’d believed the Commandant had had more options than Kinch’s sister’s friend—Klink had had a choice, and he’d made the wrong one, deserving whatever Adler had planned.

Having finally accepted how limited Klink’s options had been, his main objection to the theory was invalidated. However, there was still a part of him which didn’t want to consign himself to it. Adler had blackmailed Klink for sex—that was a fact. There could be no argument on that point. As for whether or not he could call what Adler had done to Klink rape … well, even if he couldn’t call it rape, having sex with Adler had clearly disturbed Klink a great deal. That was also a fact.

Maybe it didn’t matter _what_ he called it so long as he kept in mind that Klink _was_ so disturbed by the whole thing when he dealt with the man.

He admitted tacitly he was letting himself off the hook on the issue, but he didn’t want to be out here until night fall arguing the same points over and over again. Time. He just needed a little more time. Realizing he was getting close to the fence, he turned back in the direction of Barracks 2. A chill breeze was beginning to blow, and his face felt cold. He ducked his head into the collar of his jacket and did his best to pay the weather no mind.

Hogan knew he wanted to help Klink—still seemed like a natural decision—, but he also knew Klink wouldn’t buy that without some kind of rationale to go with it. Not when the man seemed all but convinced that Hogan shouldn’t care one way or the other or after Hogan had told him convenience was his main motivation.

Which almost literally couldn’t be further from the truth. Convenience had little, if anything, to do with it. There was definitely some pity involved, though. That had been his main motivation to set up that ‘escape’ last night when the intelligent thing would have been turning Klink down. When he’d realized the Commandant’s plan wouldn’t work, he’d been disappointed and not only because his time had been wasted. There Klink had been, making an attempt to free himself, if only for a night, and it hadn’t been enough. Sure, the plan hadn’t exactly been fool proof, and Hogan should have known better than to think a plan _Klink_ had come up with _could_ work, but it still had seemed like a shame.

By the end of that truck ride, when he’d discovered what a simple hand on the shoulder could do to the Commandant, ‘pity’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe Hogan’s feelings. At first, he’d attributed the extreme reaction to Klink being startled out of the stupor he’d been in. However, when the man had asked him, begged him, in that small, terrified voice to let him go...

Even now, a single word to describe what he’d felt in that moment escaped him. It had been more of a recognition than a feeling anyway. In that moment, Hogan had been forced to recognize all Klink’s earlier strange behavior couldn’t be explained away as Hogan’s imagination or Klink just being odder than usual. That Klink was indeed a changed man and it wasn’t a change for the better.

As enjoyable as it was to deflate the Commandant’s ego when it got insufferably large, Hogan had never wanted to see it permanently punctured. Klink wasn’t Klink without that blanket of self importance imperfectly draped over his insecurity. What would he be without all that posturing and self affirmation?

Probably what he was right now: the broken man in the back of the truck; the hysterical gun waver; the sad old man who couldn’t understand why Hogan should care one way or the other whether he lived or died.

Over the course of getting to know the Commandant as well as he did, Hogan had come to feel, well, it wasn’t an affection so much as it was a tolerance toward the man. While Klink could be a great source of irritation (and he had more than his share of faults), Hogan had become … used to him. Maybe he couldn’t say he _liked_ Klink, but he could admit he’d miss him if he was replaced. He could admit he’d be sad to see him die. 

Wanting to keep Klink around because he’d miss him if he was gone was still a selfish reason for wanting to help, but Hogan had never claimed to be very altruistic. It was still better than what he’d said before at least—just about anything would be better than what he’d said before. He just hoped Klink would believe he was actually telling the truth when he made his retraction. And maybe being a little less impersonal would make Klink more willing to open up. Maybe. If not, he had an idea.

As far as how he should even start that conversation, he was at a bit of a loss. _Probably should get some ideas from Kinch_ , Hogan decided. With that decision made, his thoughts turned to the other disaster on the horizon. The blocked phone lines would only hold Adler in check for so long, and he was very aware his time to figure out a more permanent solution to the problem was finite. When the time came when the blocked phone lines weren’t enough to keep Adler at bay, he needed to be prepared.

Hogan grinned with determination. When showtime came, he’d be pulling a rabbit out of his hat … even if he had to put the rabbit in ahead of time.


	25. Hindsight is Always 40/20

Klink stared down at the plate of food in front of him and couldn’t even bring himself to pick up the fork. He couldn’t eat this. He didn’t even want to _look_ at it. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the food itself; it was just his stomach was unsettled, and he didn’t want to vomit. Again.

Considering how much he’d had to drink and how quickly he’d drunk it, he was getting off easy with this hangover, he knew that. His eyes were sensitive to light, his head ached abominably, and he still felt nauseous, but he acknowledged it could have been much worse. Compared to how he’d felt earlier...

He’d woken up about an hour and a half after Hogan had finally stopped pestering him, feeling moments away from being violently ill. With scant seconds to spare, he’d retched into the toilet until he couldn’t even bring up bile anymore. It had been a long time since he’d felt so awful, and he vowed never to be so foolish again. He was much too old to feel grateful to the toilet for being cool to rest his head on as he recovered.

Needless to say, after that, he hadn’t felt much like going back to sleep. Instead, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the BBC and trying his hardest to worry more about the state of the war than the other things he had on his mind. It had proved to be a less than diverting exercise, and he’d ended up spending most of his time expecting to get a call from General Burkhalter approving his transfer.

As much as Adler deserved a few well placed bullets and as dim a view Klink had of his behavior the last couple days, he didn’t want to die. He still planned to follow through on the decision he’d made before because he didn’t see as there was much alternative, but he wasn’t looking forward to that outcome by any means.

However, despite his worries, he’d received no calls, and he’d been left alone for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. In fact, the first person he’d seen since Colonel Hogan had left had been Sergeant Schultz who was currently waiting to be dismissed now that he’d brought him his dinner.

Dinner. While he knew he probably should eat something—it couldn’t be good for him to miss too many meals—he didn’t feel the least bit hungry, and he didn’t want to risk the fragile control he had over his stomach. He pushed the plate away before tossing the napkin he’d put on his lap back on the table. “I can’t eat this.”

“Sir?” Schultz sounded equal parts confused and hopeful.

Klink thought about it before waving his hand in a way that indicated Schultz could help himself to the plate if he wanted to. It was a shame to waste food during a war, after all. Someone might as well enjoy it since he couldn’t.

“Are you sure, Kommandant?”

Blinking, Klink couldn’t decide which part of this surprised him the most: that Schultz was actually giving him a chance to change his mind or that he suddenly looked so concerned. “I’m sure.” When Schultz still didn’t make any moves to take him up on the offer, he added, “I just had too much for lunch, that’s all.”

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. “Thank you, sir,” he said with a smile. He slid the rifle off his shoulder and slung it on the chair. “I don’t mind if I do.” As he sat down across the way and reached for the plate, Klink forced himself to stay where he was.

He had no reason to be afraid of Sergeant Schultz. Schultz was harmless—not even the prisoners were afraid of Schultz. Not even the newest ones, fresh from their plane bail outs, were afraid of him. The man had to be one of the least intimidating people he’d ever met. As threatening as a jelly doughnut. And in all the time he’d known Schultz, he’d never seen the Sergeant so much as raise a hand against anyone. Half the time, he didn’t even keep his rifle loaded.

Klink knew Schultz was harmless. He knew it, but there was a part of him that refused to believe it. He couldn’t relax. His hands felt clammy. His imagination insisted the moment he let down his guard, Schultz would do something painful or unnatural to him. Nursing his water, he watched the other man decimate his dinner and wondered if he’d ever feel comfortable in the Sergeant’s presence again. The thought he never would made him sad and not only because it meant he’d always be afraid of someone so unthreatening.

Schultz, as incompetent as he was, sometimes felt like the closest thing he had to an ally here. Yes, he knew he had the rest of his subordinates’ loyalty (even if he couldn’t make himself quite believe it anymore), but it seemed as though he and Schultz were the only ones who recognized the ever prevalent craziness that occurred at Stalag 13. Whenever Klink thought he might be losing his grip on his sanity, he could just look at Schultz, see the helpless bewilderment in the other man’s eyes, and know something odd was really happening and wasn’t just in his head. Funny as it would sound if he’d ever actually said it, Hans Schultz was like his anchor to reality.

Now he was a very big man who probably wouldn’t, but _could_ , just suddenly decide to reach across the table and—

Shaking his head sharply, Klink cursed himself for his paranoia and Adler for making him terrified that Schultz (or, indeed, any of the men he’d had to deal with lately) would want what he had taken. Not only that they’d want it but that _they_ would be willing to take it, too. That they would be willing to force him.

The pain, the kissing, the groping, the games—those weren’t the worst things about having to deal with Adler. Even now, Klink wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, Adler had managed to fill his world with monsters. Somehow, he’d made it so Klink could barely remember sometimes that these men he was so terrified of were good people. Or at the very least, not the sort of people who’d want to do what Adler had done.

He snuck a glance at Schultz, who seemed very busy with the business of cleaning the plate. A thought came to Klink, and he let his glance turn into a gaze as he considered the other man. Before Adler had blackmailed him, Schultz had given the General a strange look. A sort of disgusted look. He’d wondered then what the Sergeant’s problem with Adler had been, and now he found himself wondering again.

What if Schultz had a reason for his apparent dislike of General Adler? Klink felt his breath catch and his chest constrict. What if _he_ hadn’t been the only one Adler had—

He shook his head slowly. No. That couldn’t be it. He’d have heard...

Actually, considering how many people _he’d_ told about what was happening between him and Adler, no, he probably wouldn’t have heard anything. He hadn’t seen anyone acting oddly, but he’d had his own problems the last couple of days, and he hadn’t exactly been making rounds around the compound! Now that the idea was in his head, however, he had to know for certain whether or not he was wrong.

These men were under his command, and he wasn’t going to stand for _them_ to be molested by that swine as well! There might not be much he could do to stop Adler outside of deadly force, but he’d be willing to take the plunge—he couldn’t bear the thought someone he was responsible for might be going through what he was going through right now. None of them deserved anything like this.

And if that monster thought he could get away with doing _anything_ to his subordinates—!

A soft inner voice of sanity spoke up and suggested he ought to find out what exactly was going on before he considered doing anything drastic. Klink conceded the point and relaxed as much as he was able. Maybe he was getting worked up for nothing. Maybe Schultz disliked Adler for the usual reason anyone disliked the Gestapo—that they were Gestapo. Maybe Schultz had just been having an off day. Who knew?

Schultz did, and Klink had to know, too. “Schultz?” He’d said it so softly he’d barely heard it himself. After taking a sip of water and shoring up his determination, he tried again. “Sergeant?”

Schultz, who was still intent on the food in front of him, didn’t appear to hear.

Becoming frustrated with both being ignored and with being unable to get his voice to cooperate with him, he took a deep breath and yelled as loudly as he could, “Sergeant Schultz!”

The results were immediate. Schultz stood up so quickly he knocked over the chair he’d been sitting in. With his salute, he came perilously close to stabbing out his eye with the fork he was still holding in his fist. There was a second or two when it seemed as though the man might be choking, but he recovered enough to spit out a “Yessir!” in addition to some potato.

Klink felt a new wave of shame for feeling even a _little_ afraid of this man. “At ease, Sergeant! I just want to ask you a question.” Uncomfortable with Schultz towering over him, he motioned for the Sergeant to sit. “Please sit down.”

Slowly, sheepishly, Schultz righted the chair and did so.

Now that he had the man’s full attention, Klink felt very exposed. And there was something about the way Schultz was looking at him. Something—

He closed his eyes for several long seconds and reminded himself that Schultz was not likely to do anything unnatural, painful, or both to him. Opening his eyes, he saw the other man was now staring. Klink smiled weakly and scrambled for some words to say. “I, ah,” how to find out what he wanted to know without giving anything away? “I—I couldn’t help noticing the other day that you don’t seem to … care much for General Adler. Would, would you mind telling me why that is?”

Schultz licked his lips, clearly nervous. “Is this off the record, Kommandant?”

That sounded ominous, but Klink was determined to have his question answered. If there was something happening, it was his duty—his right!—to know. “Yes, this is off the record. I just want to know if... I just want to know if you have a particular reason for not liking him.”

Setting down the fork, the Sergeant frowned in thought before giving a little shrug. He looked very ill at ease. “Well, Kommandant, I was doing my morning rounds Monday—two days ago, not last week!—making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be, that no one was just wandering around, that—”

“Yes, fine, Schultz,” Klink interrupted, not interested in listening to the man ramble. “What does that have to do with General Adler?”

“I’m getting to that part,” Schultz said patiently before recollecting his thoughts. “While I was walking by the latrines, I heard something that sounded like a shout. More like a yell—I didn’t actually hear any words. That didn’t seem like such a good sign, so I decided I should see what’s going on.” He hesitated. “You won’t tell anyone I said this, yes?”

By the slimmest of margins, Klink kept himself from shouting as his annoyance overcame his discomfort. “That’s what ‘off the record’ means, Dummkopf,” he ground out slowly, unable to help attaching the insult. That had maybe been a little too harsh, but he already knew he wouldn’t like the news Schultz was going to give him—having it drawn out wouldn’t make it any better. 

Schultz, used to being called names, didn’t even look insulted, although he still seemed uneasy. “The shout had come from behind the latrines, so I went around, and do you know what I saw?”

 _Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything._ As satisfying as it would be to start yelling at the man, he knew doing so wouldn’t make Schultz get to the point any sooner. The quickest way of getting to the bottom of all this was to wait for him to tell the story his own way and at his own pace. Klink shook his head.

“General Adler was there, and he was pinning Sergeant,” his eyes narrowed briefly, “Jackson against the wall. He had his hand over the Sergeant’s mouth, and he was saying something to him, but he was speaking so low, I couldn’t hear.”

“Dear God,” Klink whispered, his hand going up to his mouth. Looked like he _wasn’t_ to the only one Adler had decided to foist himself on. That the man would try something like this was a possibility he had never even considered, and it was a terrible shock for him. It did make perfect sense though: why risk going after guards when prisoners were so much more plentiful and so much easier to catch alone? And if a prisoner thought it’d do him any good to report something like that, who would believe such a story?

Klink wasn’t sure if he would have before all this: it’d be simply too fantastic to even consider.

“God.” His camp had been a buffet for that monster, and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Kommandant?”

Shaking his head, Klink returned his attention to the Sergeant. “What happened then?” He’d heard this much; he might as well hear the rest.

Schultz frowned in concerned confusion before continuing on. “I asked the General if there was a problem because it didn’t look right to me at all.” He shook his head and half-shrugged, distressed. “The General had no reason to be touching the prisoners—if there was a problem, he should have come to me or any of the other guards to handle it.” He seemed to realize he was getting a little off topic, and he shrugged again. “I asked him if there was a problem, and he smiled at me,” an almost imperceptible shudder, “and said that he and the Sergeant were just having a little chat. After he left, I asked Jackson what that had been all about, and he told me...”

He looked over his shoulder, as though he feared Adler might suddenly appear behind him, before leaning forward and whispering, “He told me that the General had tried to _kiss_ him.”

It wasn’t really a surprise, but Klink felt his stomach drop anyway. “Why didn’t you report this?” Even as he made the demand, he knew what the answer would be.

“I-I didn’t actually see the General _do_ anything, Kommandant,” Schultz stammered. “That would be a very serious accusation, and,” he tried to chuckle, “I’d rather not get involved with the Gestapo.”

Who would? Wasn’t that the reason he was in this mess in the first place? Klink felt his hand clench into a fist, his rage at Schultz’s news gaining a victory over the sick feeling which had formed in his stomach. He should have known about this already. He should have been told.

He was the Kommandant—he should know what was happening in his own camp! Who knew how many men Adler had fondled before Schultz had caught him at it? Those POWs weren’t on his side of the war, but that didn’t mean he thought they deserved having Adler happen to them. He was in charge of those men; he was supposed to keep them _safe_ , for God’s sake.

Being the Kommandant of Stalag 13 had been one of the few duties he’d had that he could honestly claim some skill—that he did well—and now? Now, he found out he’d bungled it. Spectacularly. To think Adler could _do_ something like this, right under his own nose in broad daylight, and know he could get away with it was galling. Maybe he’d only gotten as far as trying to kiss that Sergeant, but that didn’t mean he would have stopped there if Schultz hadn’t happened to be passing by.

Knowing Adler’s tastes … Stalag 13 must seem like a candy store to him.

Well, no more! Klink knew about all of this now, and he was going to do something to put a stop to it. He wasn’t about to let that swine think he could just go around molesting _his_ prisoners! “I want you to station a guard at the latrines until General Adler leaves.” Where else? “I want a guard at the showers too.” There were probably a few other relatively isolated places the beast could try, but even as Klink considered them, he came to the sickening realization that the guards probably wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

Adler no longer needed to corner some unlucky man to get his pleasure: he had Klink to play with now. Klink shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, almost feeling the man’s hands on him as he recalled Adler’s claims of owning him and wanting to keep him around. For a selfish moment, he wished Schultz _hadn’t_ caught Adler—maybe Adler would have been satisfied with Sergeant Jackson, and maybe he wouldn’t have bothered blackmailing him at all.

But only for a moment because, as much as he wished he’d never had this chance to learn so many horrible things about himself, he knew he deserved Adler’s attentions more than that Sergeant. After all, wasn’t _he_ the one who was deranged enough to find pleasure in the man’s touch? Wasn’t he the one who—

Hands on his shoulders. Worms on his skin. 

With an inarticulate cry, Klink pulled away from them and fell out of his chair. He hit the floor hard, and it took him a long moment to catch his breath. A voice was talking to him. It sounded afraid. Anxious. It also sounded vaguely familiar.

Closing his eyes, Klink forced himself to focus on it. By degrees, he realized it was Schultz’s voice, and he realized what must have happened: his thoughts had wandered again, and Schultz must have been trying to get his attention.

He felt a hand on his arm and a tug. Schultz was trying to get him up, and at any other time—before Adler had entered his life—he wouldn’t have minded the help. Now, though, he needed the man to stop. Right now. Before Klink did anything else to embarrass himself.

“Sergeant,” he said softly, trying very hard to rein in the frustration at his fear as well as his rising panic, “let go of me. Now.”

Immediately, the hand left his arm. “Are you all right, Kommandant?”

Klink decided he was growing tired of hearing that question: the only answer he could give to it was a painfully obvious lie. Opening his eyes, he saw Schultz leaning over him. “Yes. Just … just give me some room.” Once Schultz had backed away, Klink started the slow, arduous journey upwards.

When he finally made it back to his feet, he felt incredibly unsteady. Seeing Schultz had righted the chair, he sat down. He stared up at the worried man and let out a long breath. Maybe what he was going to say to him would sound incredibly suspicious, but he didn’t know how many more of these … scares he could take. His heart was still in his throat, and his chest felt painfully tight. “Sergeant, I’d … I’d prefer it if you kept your hands to yourself. If you need to speak to me, find some other way of getting my attention. Shout. Yell. Anything. Just don’t touch me. All right?”

Schultz looked completely bewildered and a bit shaken himself, but he attempted a reassuring smile. “Of course, Kommandant.” He made a show of stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’ll keep them right here.”

Somehow, Klink did not feel very reassured. “Fine.” He wiped sweaty palms on his pant legs. What had they been talking about before that … episode? Oh, right. “I want those guards posted until further notice.”

The Sergeant saluted smartly. “I have already done so, Kommandant.”

Frankly, Klink felt more than a little shocked at the man’s initiative. “Really?” At Schultz’s nod, Klink allowed himself a small smile. Even if Adler didn’t have to try for the prisoners anymore, having the guards there would tell the swine in no uncertain terms that this camp was _not_ easy pickings any longer.

A tiny victory at best but better than nothing.

“Good.” Then another thought occurred to him. He wasn’t sure what he could possibly do if the answer to the question was no, but he recognized he’d already failed this man once—he had a responsibility to know the depth of his failure. “Is Sergeant Jackson... Is he all right?”

Schultz tilted his head, puzzled. “Sir?” The look on his face clearly asked why Klink would think the Sergeant _wouldn’t_ be all right.

Maybe Schultz was right to wonder—Adler hadn’t done anything besides trying to kiss the man, after all. And even if Adler had had a chance to do more than that, well, Klink was sure not everyone was as weak as he was. “Just humor me,” he said tiredly. “How is the Sergeant doing?” 

Still a bit uncertain, Schultz nodded slowly. “He was a bit upset at the time, but he seems fine now.” He frowned, as though reconsidering his statement, before nodding again. “He seemed fine when I saw him yesterday.”

While that might only mean Jackson was only a good actor, Klink still felt relieved. There wasn’t much he could do for the man in any case beyond transferring him to another Stalag, although he was willing to do it if the Sergeant was having difficulties here. “Let me know if that changes.”

“You think he’ll be a problem, Kommandant?” Schultz asked, now utterly confounded.

Klink sighed and rubbed his face. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just want to be kept informed.” Then he remembered why he’d had to have this conversation with Schultz in the first place. “And the next time something like this happens, I want to be told.”

“B-but, but, Kommandant—”

Looking at Schultz and noting the trapped expression on his face, Klink sighed again. “It can be off the record, but I need to know what’s going on around here—is that clear?”

“Yes, Herr Kommandant,” Schultz answered unhappily, slumping a bit. “May I be dismissed, Kommandant? It’s almost time for the evening roll.”

Was it that late already? While a part of him was relieved Schultz would be leaving, most of Klink now worried about how much sooner Adler would be here to replace him. Of the two, he definitely preferred Schultz—even with his rampant paranoia coming into play. “Dismissed, Sergeant. Just remember what we’ve discussed.”

Schultz saluted and started for the door as soon as it was returned.

Klink watched him go and wondered how long it would take the man to realize he’d left his rifle behind. A few minutes later, a shamefaced Schultz returned, and Klink felt himself tense even as he cursed himself for doing it. After Schultz had left again (rifle now on his shoulder where it belonged), Klink cradled his head in his arms and didn’t move for a long time.


	26. Third Time's the Curse

Klink took yet another look around his office, feeling very close to panic. Where was it? He hadn’t thought it was a good idea to leave the Luger on the floor for several reasons—not the least of which being that Adler would be coming very soon and Klink didn’t want the man to have the slightest hint of what his contingency plan was. He’d figured he ought to put it away, but now he couldn’t find the thing. 

Wiping away the nervous sweat which had formed on his forehead, Klink tried to calm down enough to think it through again. All right. The last time he’d had it was after aiming it at—after throwing it on the floor. After that, the pistol hadn’t even crossed his mind. He certainly hadn’t come in later and put it away. At least, he couldn’t remember doing so. As muddled as his memories of the last hour before he’d gone to sleep were, well, he’d never blacked out that completely before.

On the other hand, he had been _very_ drunk this afternoon, and he’d been having trouble remembering things before he’d taken his first sip. Looking at it that way, he supposed it was entirely possible he’d put the pistol away himself and had either suffered another bout of forgetfulness or had been too drunk to remember he’d done it.

Not the happiest of explanations but ones which made sense and also meant that someone hadn’t simply walked off with his pistol. They could also be easily confirmed one way or the other. Klink sat in his chair and bent down to reach out for the bottom desk drawer. His hand rested on the handle, and he’d been just about to pull the drawer open when an unexpected sound made him freeze.

He couldn’t bring himself to look up and see who had opened the office door. Considering the hour, there weren’t many people to choose from. His hand tightened around the drawer’s handle as he heard the door shut and heavy footsteps start across the floor. The steps stopped abruptly and all too familiar laughter made Klink’s chest constrict. He wasn’t ready for this yet!

“Ah, Wilhelm! I almost didn’t see you there—what are you doing? Hiding?”

The jovial tone did nothing for Klink’s nerves. “N-no,” he stuttered, cursing his inability to keep his voice from shaking, “I’m, I’m … I’m cleaning up.”

While Klink thought his explanation sounded weak at best, Adler didn’t seem interested in contesting it. He laughed again. “Fine, Wilhelm, fine. I do realize I’m a little early tonight.” Footsteps came up to the desk, but Klink still wasn’t prepared for the hand that suddenly settled on his back. A low chuckle suggested Adler had noticed his flinch. “If you can tear yourself away, we can take advantage of the extra time.”

Hardly an enticement. For a moment, Klink fought against the temptation to fling the drawer open, pick up the Luger he hoped was resting inside, and implement his last resort sooner than planned. Anything but let this swine touch him again! Anything but let this evening follow the course of the last two! Even as his grip on the drawer’s handle became white knuckled, he knew he wouldn’t do it. As much as he didn’t want to go through this again and as badly as he’d like to see the smug expression Adler was no doubt wearing wiped off his face, Klink wasn’t ready to die.

As unprepared as he felt to go through this humiliation a third time, he felt even less prepared to take his own life. The dark part of his mind suggested maybe he’d feel more prepared after whatever betrayals his body handed him tonight.

Maybe he would, but for now—

Doing his best to look casual about it, Klink let his hand fall away from the drawer’s handle and sat up. The realization Adler had actually joined him on his side of the desk was an unpleasant one. The man’s hungry expression was also unpleasant.

Adler brought the hand which had been resting on Klink’s back up to Klink’s face. Klink forced himself not to shy away from the fingers trailing his cheek. “I think we should do this somewhere that’s a little more comfortable, don’t you?”

Klink’s fingers bit into his palm, but he knew better than to think he’d actually do something with the fist he’d made. He wasn’t foolhardy enough to believe he’d be able to win a fight against Adler, and he wasn’t brave enough to attempt it anyway. “Whatever you want, General,” he said softly. Anything to get this business over with.

“Whatever I want,” Adler repeated with obvious relish. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.” With a smirk, he stroked Klink’s cheek before turning away. “What I want is for you to follow me—the night is wasting.”

Klink followed Adler into his quarters, stopping to shut the door behind him. He wasn’t too concerned with anyone walking in (since anyone who needed him this late would just walk in anyway); he just wanted the few seconds the action afforded him before he would have to jump through whatever hoops Adler had in mind for this evening. Turning around, he saw the man had already taken a seat in the middle of the couch.

“Come and sit,” Adler ordered in a light tone as he patted the cushion next to him. “I want you to be comfortable.”

‘Comfortable?’ Why did it always surprise him when Adler said that lie? It was laughable—at least, he imagined it would be if he was in any mood to laugh. He wasn’t though, and he only shook his head the barest fraction before he stopped himself and made his way over to the couch. He took a seat right against the arm—pointedly as far from Adler as he could get. With how small the couch suddenly seemed, this was not nearly far enough for Klink’s liking.

The whole effort became moot as Adler stood and moved to sit closer. The amused expression on his face as he pinned Klink’s hip tightly against the arm of the couch was infuriating, and Klink welcomed the brief rush of anger. Helpless anger was better than helpless fear—Of course, that was a bit like saying cold sour beer was better than warm sour beer: neither were any good to drink. Angry or afraid, he was still helpless.

“That’s better,” Adler said once he’d resettled himself. Then he casually slung his arm around Klink’s shoulders in a way which reminded Klink uncomfortably of his own actions on the dates he’d had. Klink only hoped those women hadn’t felt the same way he was feeling now that he was on the receiving end. He’d hate to be responsible for making anyone feel the way he felt now.

“How are you feeling, Wilhelm? I notice you’re still limping.”

He couldn’t summon any annoyance at Adler’s mock concern. It was hard to feel anything but sick and terrified with Adler touching so much of him at once. While several layers of cloth separated them, Klink couldn’t ignore the heat and pressure enveloping him. A slight tightening of Adler’s arm around his shoulders reminded him he’d been asked something. Oh, right. How was he feeling? “I’m fine,” he lied.

Adler brought his other hand under Klink’s chin and gently forced his face up. He regarded Klink for several long seconds before letting go. “Here,” he said, tugging a small metal flask from his pocket before holding it out for Klink to take, “you look like you could use some of this.”

That was the _last_ thing Klink needed. His stomach was already flipping at the prospect of any more alcohol. “I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice edged with panic despite his efforts.

For a moment, Adler looked puzzled. Then he shook his head, his expression clearly saying ‘What an odd man!’ “Just take it,” he insisted. When Klink made no move to do so, Adler’s eyes hardened. “Now.”

It was pointless to refuse and incredibly dangerous to start arguing when Adler was practically on top of him, but Klink also knew—taking into account the current delicate condition of his stomach—that drinking any alcohol would be a mistake. He hadn’t vomited in front of Adler yet, and he didn’t want to start now. “I’d rather not.”

Adler’s mouth twisted into something like a smile, and Klink realized instantly he’d used the wrong words. “Did I ask you what you’d rather do?” he asked in a deceptively calm tone.

This question sounded very familiar. The only difference was, last time, Adler had hit him before he’d bothered asking it. Fortunately, Klink remembered the correct answer to give, which he supplied quickly. “No, you didn’t.” An errant thought that his teachers at the academy would be pleased to know he was becoming such an apt pupil wandered across his mind before he shooed it away. There wasn’t time for that. 

“That’s right: I didn’t,” Adler said with smug satisfaction. “Now, take this and drink up! I’d like to get started, and this will be _so_ much easier for both of us if you are more relaxed.”

There wasn’t enough alcohol in Germany to make this swine’s plans relaxing ... Well, there was plenty if the idea was to drink himself unconscious. Although, with the way his stomach felt, even if he _wanted_ to try, he didn’t think he’d be able to manage more than a sip or two before he was sick. Not that he got to make the choice. Either he drank it now or Adler would do something painful to him and he’d be made to drink it anyway.

So, why not make things easier on himself? Feeling defeated, Klink took the proffered flask and stared dully at it before unscrewing the cap. The opening was too small and the light was too dim for him to see any of the liquid inside. He supposed it didn’t matter what kind of liquor Adler was plying him with—the end result was sure to be the same.

With a fatalistic shrug, he took a large sip and swallowed it down. Whatever it was tasted bitter and lacked the tell tale burn of alcohol. His stomach flipped worryingly, and for a few seconds, he thought it might come back up.

“Try to drink a little more.” 

Klink looked at him, swallowing hard to keep what he’d already drunk down. It wasn’t alcohol, but it didn’t want to settle anyway. Only the knowledge Adler couldn’t have possibly tired of him already kept him from panic. Whatever it was he’d just drunk, it probably wasn’t poison. Probably. “What is this?”

“Just some water mixed with Eukadol,” Adler said with a small shrug. “I bought a bottle from the commissary in Berlin. Just in case.” Then he grinned and squeezed Klink’s shoulders in a gross parody of a friendly hug. “I also purchased some Pervitin, but I think you talk enough already.”

 _‘Just in case’._ Klink shivered at the realization of just how early Adler had been planning to do this to someone—why else would someone this far from the front bother to buy such a strong pain killer ‘just in case’?

At least now he knew _what_ Adler was so insistent he drink! He closed his eyes briefly before taking another, much smaller, sip. There were much worse drugs than Eukadol. It wasn’t something addictive like morphine or Heroin. Addiction to a narcotic was nothing he wanted any part of—not when he was having so much trouble controlling himself as it was!

But this was safe enough, and it would take the edge off the pain he was feeling. While he couldn’t be grateful for the relief, considering its source was the reason he needed any in the first place, he didn’t have enough pride left to refuse it. Of course, even if he _wanted_ to refuse it, he doubted Adler would let him. It was yet another choice that wasn’t his to make.

After a final sip, he put the cover back on the flask and hoped Adler would be satisfied. His stomach was gurgling unpleasantly, and he didn’t think the addition of any more of the bitter solution would improve matters. Why the man hadn’t just given him a pill to swallow, he couldn’t imagine. “I … I can’t drink any more of this.”

Adler took the flask back and shook it a little before returning it to his pocket. “You’ve probably had enough.” He leaned in close and ran a finger down Klink’s cheek, a predatory grin curving his mouth. “I think it’s time we got started. How about it, Wilhelm, would you like a kiss?”

Would he like a kiss? Klink could admit to being very confused and disturbed by his apparent enjoyment of what Adler did to him after the … groping, but he and his body were in perfect agreement over the beast and his kisses. While he was smart enough to know he couldn’t afford to be so truthful just now, it sickened him to have to act like all this was something it wasn’t. If it was his choice, he’d never let Adler so much as _touch_ him again—never mind anything as intimate as a _kiss_!

Unfortunately, that much wasn’t his choice; how he answered this question was. “I don’t care.” It was a lie but more palatable than the one Adler had wanted him to say and safer for him than the truth. He hoped.

“You don’t care,” Adler repeated slowly before his grin widened. “In that case, you can go first.” He turned his body, leaning over Klink, and set his hand on Klink’s waist. “Kiss me, Wilhelm.”

Loathing and dread churned his stomach, and Klink swallowed desperately. He wasn’t going to vomit. He’d done this before, and he could do it again. All he needed was some time to prepare and—The impatience in Adler’s eyes warned that he wasn’t going to get more than a few more seconds before the other man did something Klink would regret. No more time for thinking then; he’d just have to ‘wing it’ again. Taking a deep breath, he moved his face closer to Adler’s and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately, Adler’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. Klink shuddered and labored not to think about whose mouth he was currently latched onto. He tried to clear his mind, to not think about anyone or anything, but the hands roaming his body and the lips on his own anchored him to the moment. He couldn’t deny he was kissing some man. It was bearable though because he wasn’t kissing Adler. The man who was pressing him into the couch and attempting to straddle him was someone else. Anyone else.

The image of Hogan came to mind again, but due to the position he was in, he couldn’t pull away when he realized what he was thinking. That realization also reminded him forcefully of just who he was _really_ kissing. His stomach churning once more, Klink made his decision: if that was the only way he could do this, he would do it. Screwing his eyes tighter and making a mental apology to the American for using him like this, Klink let his imagination have free rein. He was a little breathless by the time Adler pulled away.

Adler was grinning lazily, and the nausea Klink had been able to suppress during the ordeal returned with a vengeance. “Very good, Wilhelm. Very … energetic.” He took his arm off of Klink’s shoulders and started to unbutton Klink’s jacket. “I think you’re starting to get into the swing of things at last.”

The swing of things. Klink felt hollow and sickened in a way which had nothing to do with his stomach. His imagination was better than he’d given it credit for. There had been a moment or two when he’d actually been able to convince himself that he was kissing Hogan rather than Adler. There had been a moment or two where he had actually enjoyed it. Being able to kiss a man was one thing but to _enjoy_ it?

The fact that he’d used the Senior POW as, as _fantasy fodder_ only made him feel even more perverse. Yes, he’d had little other option, but, damn it!, he shouldn’t have enjoyed it. While Hogan’s words had hurt him this afternoon—and, yes, he still felt foolish for that—Klink respected the man. To use him like this? And then to enjoy it? He could only shake his head in mute horror and shame at the depths he was sinking to.

“Don’t look so downhearted,” Adler said lightly, removing Klink’s jacket before casually tossing it to the floor. “You’ll get used to it soon enough—you may even get to like it if you let yourself.” He chuckled, his amusement as ugly as the sound he was making. “Of course, that’s your choice. Either way, I plan on having a lot of fun with you in Berlin.”

That was one of the things Klink was afraid of: that he’d get used to this. That he’d get to like it. Adler’s hands went to his throat to untie his tie, and he shivered. No, he’d never get to like this. He wouldn’t let that happen. He’d already made his decision—if Adler got his way about the transfer, he was going to put a stop to all of this. If Adler got his way, Klink was going to shoot him. He was going to kill him. That’s all there was to it.

“You’re doing so well,” Adler murmured as he got to work on Klink’s shirt.

Klink shivered again, both at the hands pawing his chest and the soft inner voice reminding him that killing Adler _wasn’t_ all there was to it. Was he ready to take that last step? Was he really prepared to take his own life? Were there any other options open to him if he wasn’t? If his transfer was approved, he’d be better off dead than in Berlin. He had no choice. If he was transferred— _if_ he was transferred...

There was only one way to find out. “What did General Burkhalter say?” Klink asked. It was a risk to ask Adler any question, but he needed to know. If his fate had been decided already, he needed all the time he could get to come to terms with it. When the time came for him to take that final plunge, he wanted to be ready. He needed to be ready. He couldn’t afford to fail.

Adler’s fingers paused in the middle of undoing the last button. “I didn’t get to speak with him,” he said tightly. “The only person I could get a hold of was his secretary, and he would only tell me Burkhalter was unavailable.” He shook his head in disgust. “If I can’t raise him tomorrow, I’ll go to your headquarters and sort it out personally.”

Klink had a moment of confusion about Burkhalter’s male secretary, but Adler stripping him of his shirt brought his mind back to the present.

“You _will_ be transferred,” Adler continued, his expression becoming predatory once more. “I’ll see to it.” He gave Klink’s exposed neck a light kiss before moving his hands down Klink’s sides. “I want to keep you close—I don’t like sharing what’s mine, and I own you, don’t I, Wilhelm?”

Bile rose in Klink’s throat. “Yes,” he answered, his voice barely a whisper. Saying it left a bad taste in his mouth, but how could he argue? How could he deny Adler’s claim when he was letting this happen? Again.

“‘Yes’ what? Be precise,” Adler ordered pleasantly as he finished unbuckling Klink’s belt.

Klink bowed his head because he didn’t want to look at the other man when he said it. “You … own me.” Why did Adler keep making him say that? Did the man think he’d be able to forget for one moment who had all the power here? Or did Adler just make him say it to make this experience more unpleasant? As though it wasn’t unpleasant enough alread—

A particularly pointed grope caused Klink to shrink back, clenching his fingers into the cushion to keep himself from trying to stop Adler’s increasingly intimate touches. Even though he couldn’t imagine God was paying him much attention these days, he still prayed Adler would tire of this game soon.

He wasn’t looking forward to what was coming after this by any means, but how long Adler decided to take now had no bearing on what happened then. He just wanted to get through this night. He just wanted to get this over with.

Adler paused his ministrations and looked up, his eyes seeming to be searching for something in Klink’s expression. “I know this is difficult for you,” he soothed with rancid sympathy, “but it doesn’t have to be. All you have to do is stop fighting me.” Cruel mirth twisted his lips. “Just let it happen.”

There was little question of what ‘it’ Adler meant as he resumed his groping.

Klink shivered and dug his fingers in a little deeper. As though he’d had much success in fighting Adler before now—as though he’d been able to keep his body under control at all! His body was a traitor; if the last two nights had taught him nothing else, they had taught him that. Regardless of what he was feeling or thinking, his body would eventually do what it wanted. For whatever reason, it _liked_ what Adler did. Even now, he could feel the faint stirrings just under his nausea.

“That’s right, Wilhelm,” Adler purred, his touches becoming more invasive and aggressive. “Just relax.”

As though anything about this was relaxing. Closing his eyes, Klink tried to focus on his hands, on the pain he felt from digging his fingers into the couch, rather than the sickening, confusing feelings Adler was eliciting. His body would betray him, just as it had before, but he wanted to keep that from happening as long as he could. He acknowledged with a stab of self loathing the very fact he had to fight his arousal at all meant he was a very sick man.

He was sure anyone else in his position wouldn’t have to fight it: being molested by someone so hateful would be enough for them. All he could do was wonder what was so wrong with him that that wasn’t enough for _him_. 

Finally, Adler’s hands left his groin, and Klink opened his eyes. “Good news, Wilhelm! I’m almost ready for you now.” Something akin to humor colored his tone, although the warning in his words was impossible to ignore, as he continued, “However, since you felt so _strongly_ about it last night, I’ve decided to let you choose. Where do you want me to have you? Here? The office? The bedroom?” He smiled and spoke as though he was doing Klink a great favor. “We’ll go wherever you want.”

Klink stared up at Adler as the other man stood. Was it time for that already? Relief and terror swirled in his mind—the evening was that much closer to a close, but he was also that much closer to testing his control a third time. He didn’t hold out much hope he’d somehow manage not to humiliate himself again. His arms moved, but he resisted the urge to wrap them around himself. Why make his fear any more obvious than it probably already was?

“Well, where do you want to go? Choose,” Adler ordered; his patience was obviously not up to the task of waiting more than a few seconds for an answer. Nothing Klink hadn’t already found out the painful way.

‘Choose’? As though there was an actual choice he could make. As though any answer he could give Adler would be what he really wanted. This was just another game where Adler made him say ‘yes’ when what he wanted to scream was ‘no’. He was sick of losing that game, but maybe there was a way to break even. He’d gotten away with it once before, and there was no reason he could see why he couldn’t try again. “I don’t care, General.”

Adler’s expression closed, revealing nothing. When he spoke, his tone was flatly annoyed. “Is that how you’re going to answer every time I ask you what you want?”

It was certainly better than the pretense this was something he had a say in! He didn’t want to act out this script anymore—the script where this perversion was something it wasn’t. He didn’t want this, and he was tired of feigning he did—especially when he had to deal with growing evidence that there had to be a _some_ part of him that wasn’t merely playing along.

None of that was anything he could say. Well, he could say it, but he doubted Adler would appreciate the honesty. Since he had no desire to feel what form Adler’s displeasure would take, he scrambled for some other explanation he could give and prayed it would mollify the man.

“No. I-I … It’s just … it really makes no difference to me.” It wasn’t a lie. Where Adler defiled him tonight didn’t matter: he didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore.

Adler stared at him for a long moment before something Klink wouldn’t have hesitated to identify as fondness on anyone else’s face softened his expression. “I think I may have underestimated you. You’re cleverer than I thought.” Then he grinned and slapped Klink heartily enough on the shoulder to make him wince. “And here I thought you wouldn’t be much of a challenge!”

Klink felt his eyes go wide, feeling far too bewildered to be insulted by Adler’s implied slight to his intelligence. Of all the reactions he’d expected to his, admittedly, weak resistance, this wasn’t one of them. “General?”

“Hush,” Adler ordered cheerfully. “I was worried I’d get bored, but I can see I still have a ways to go with you yet.” Then he adopted a more patronizing expression and crossed his arms. “Yes, you were clever enough to find a loophole so you didn’t have to give me the answer I wanted. Bravo. However, I think now it’s time you show me you’re clever enough not to try that little trick again.”

The condescending smile flattened into a serious line. “So, I’m going to ask you one more time: Where do you want me to take you?” His lips turned upward, creating a cruel smirk. “And remember to be precise.”

Klink had known before he’d decided to take the chance he’d taken that he’d never be able to deny Adler what he wanted for very long. How could he? The man held all the cards in this game, and he got to make up the rules as he went—it was impossible for him to lose. For making such a gamble under those conditions, Klink supposed he deserved having to pay up now—if for no other reason than being foolish enough to try in the first place.

“I would rather—” a warning look from Adler made Klink stop short and reconsider his words. He didn’t sigh, but his shoulders slumped as he realized he wasn’t being given the option of taking comfort in semantics this time.

 _Just give him what he wants—you will in the end anyway._ Besides, they were just words, and Adler couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to believe he meant them. “I want,” his mouth felt dry and he swallowed with difficulty, “to … ”

Now that he had to pick (he refused to think of it as a ‘choice’), he wasn’t sure where to say. It wasn’t something he’d thought he’d have to give much thought to. After giving the matter some quick deliberation (his stomach twisting as he considered certain details of what was to come), he decided to go the less painful route. Although a part of him thought he deserved the pain for the way he’d reacted to all of this, he hurt enough already. “ … use the bedroom.”

Adler tilted his head. “Use the bedroom for what, Wilhelm? I told you to be precise.”

Klink bowed his head and sighed softly. What had he ever done to deserve being put through all this? Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes tightly and said his line like a good little actor. “I want you to … have me in the bedroom.”

When he received no response, he looked up to see Adler smiling gently before nodding with satisfaction. “Then let’s not lose any more time—the night _is_ wasting,” he declared, offering his hand to Klink to help him off the couch. When Klink declined it, standing on his own and finding the action easier to perform than it had been all day, Adler merely smirked.

Before Klink had a chance to do much more than marvel at the fact he’d gotten to his feet with so little pain, Adler snaked an arm around Klink’s waist and pulled him close. “That stubbornness will get you into trouble one of these days, Wilhelm,” he warned, his voice husky, as he wrapped Klink into a tight embrace. “But I suppose I’ll miss it when you finally accept your place.”

Opening his mouth in an ill advised, but unstoppable, move to ask Adler what he was talking about, he was abruptly interrupted by Adler’s mouth mashing into his. He shuddered as Adler pulled him closer still and explored his mouth with his tongue.

A bizarre mixture of revulsion and boredom roiled through Klink’s brain as he struggled not to struggle. While he felt like he was drowning in slime, there were no surprises here anymore—even the feeling of Adler’s erection pressing into him was becoming disturbingly familiar—and all he could do was stay still and wait for the other man to have his fill.

At last, Adler broke the kiss and relaxed his hold, his hands sliding down to rest on Klink’s hips. “You’re still fighting me,” he remarked, his tone revealing amusement and something Klink refused to term as affection. Bringing up his hand, he slowly stroked his knuckles up and down Klink’s cheek. “I can see how much you want to move away when I touch you.”

Yes, Klink despised this pretense of tenderness, but the fingers on his face weren’t the reason he wanted to move away just now. It was the other man’s shifting himself ever so slightly to rub against him that really made Klink wish he was brave enough to pull away and just damn the consequences. Of course, had he been that brave when this whole mess had started, he wouldn’t be standing here now in Adler’s arms while the swine … acted like the animal he was.

No, if he’d been lucky, he would have been dead by now.

_Would that have been so terrible?_ He started at the unbidden thought and tried, without success, to pretend it had never crossed his mind.

“Don’t be so coy, Wilhelm,” Adler chuckled, obviously noticing the start and misinterpreting its cause, “you’re the one who does this to me.” Still chuckling, he grabbed Klink’s elbow and started leading him to his bedroom. “Now, as much as I enjoy watching you squirm, we don’t have all night.”

Klink let himself be led. For all of Adler’s talk about his stubbornness, he felt drained. It was difficult to work up the energy to keep fighting when nothing he tried made any difference. He felt numb all over, and he couldn’t decide whether or not this was a good thing. Sure, he was sick of feeling terrified, but was feeling nothing at all much of an improvement?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice they’d reached their destination until Adler pushed him face down onto the bed. Klink could hear clothing rustling as he recovered from the suddenness of the fall, and he buried his face into the pillow. It appeared the preliminaries were finally over, and he was almost grateful. The sooner the beast got started, the sooner he’d finish.

Hands tugged on his boots, and Klink resigned himself to what was to come. Adler would violate him and use his traitorous body against him as he whispered disgusting encouragements into his ears.

Just as he had the night before and the night before.

Klink couldn’t summon up any feeling beyond weariness at the thought. He hoped in a vague, distant way, as Adler’s hands starting pulling down his pants, the numbness would stay with him long enough to get through this again.


	27. Easier Said Than Thought

Kinch hadn’t expected them to accept his theory without an argument—heck, he hadn’t expected them to accept it _with_ an argument either—, but the whole thing had still been very frustrating. It was bizarre. For any other subject, those men would at least hear him out before dismissing what he had to say. But not this one. As soon as the word ‘rape’ had left his mouth, Newkirk started arguing it couldn’t be rape with consent. When Kinch had tried to make Newkirk see that consent under threat of death (which was basically what Klink’s situation had been) wasn’t very meaningful consent, LeBeau had piped up with, sure, having sex with someone you didn’t care for wasn’t much fun but it was just sex.

Asking LeBeau if he would say that if it was a woman in Klink’s situation had encouraged Newkirk to make several jokes about the Commandant’s preferences, as well as some lewd comments the radioman would have rather not heard. It had been about there he’d realized he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with this discussion. In interests of not losing his temper, he’d decided it would be best for everyone if they agreed to disagree for the moment. After all, it wasn’t as though any of them actually had to deal with Klink on any kind of personal level.

Kinch leaned back in the chair by the radio and laced his fingers behind his head. No, the only person who had to deal with Klink was Colonel Hogan. While he respected and liked the Colonel a great deal, he could admit the man wasn’t well suited to the task in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought Hogan was completely without empathy; it was just the Colonel was a very private person. It was seldom he shared anything he thought outside of mission plans; it was even less often he shared anything he felt deeper than humor or frustration.

Even though Kinch thought he knew the man better than anyone else here, he knew he didn’t know much about the inner Hogan. Which was fine, of course—as long as the Colonel did what needed to be done, he had the right to be as closed off as he’d like—but it did present certain difficulties for him in this extremely private situation. It would take more than the Colonel’s seemingly endless supply of charisma to succeed here. Kinch doubted Klink would fall for any of Hogan’s usual mock sympathetic overtures: Hogan would have to be as honest and as open as possible if he wanted to keep the Commandant around.

And judging from the way he’d sounded earlier, he wanted to. Kinch just hoped Hogan had stopped blaming the man for his predicament—it wouldn’t be possible to get Klink to open up if Hogan wasn’t going to admit it hadn’t been Klink’s fault.

“Kinch?”

Kinch focused his eyes on the doorway, taking in the uncomfortable form of Sergeant Carter with a bit of surprise. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors—least of all any of those three. After all, he’d spoken to them less than ten minutes ago. And it wasn’t as though any of them had actually been interested in anything he’d had to say. “Carter? What do you want?”

A faint flash of hurt passed over the younger man’s face, and Kinch realized he’d been harsher than he’d had a right to be. Before Kinch had a chance to apologize, Carter was already moving on. “I want to ask you something.”

Gesturing towards the other chair, Kinch smiled and strove to keep his weary frustration to himself. Once Carter had taken a seat, he asked what the other Sergeant wanted to talk about.

Carter looked simultaneously ill at ease and determined. “Why do you think the Commandant was, well, what you said he was? You never explained it.”

Kinch laughed without humor. “I didn’t exactly get a chance.” He regarded Carter with a fair amount of surprise. “You really want me to explain it _now_?”

“If you think something’s important to think about,” Carter confirmed earnestly, “then it usually is.”

Despite the topic of the discussion, Kinch’s smile widened into something more genuine: he’d missed being taken seriously. “There’s not much to it.” And there wasn’t. It took Kinch less than two minutes to tell Carter what he’d been telling Colonel Hogan all along.

“But why was he afraid of _me_?” Carter asked, sounding a bit disturbed by the prospect. “I mean, I never did anything to him.”

It was a good question, and one Kinch wasn’t quite sure he knew the answer to. As he’d told the Colonel the other day, he was hardly an expert on rape. He could guess why Michelle had been afraid of men after her experience, but Klink… Looking at Carter, it was hard to believe the Commandant would be afraid of _him_ for the same reason. On the other hand, maybe that part wasn’t so complex.

“From what I understand,” Kinch said, choosing his words carefully, “General Adler likes to get a bit violent.” He shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “You hit a dog enough times, it cowers no matter who tries to pet it.”

Carter was frowning thoughtfully. “You sure make it all sound so simple when you put it like that.”

“I think it _is_ fairly simple,” Kinch said tiredly, feeling his earlier frustration return. “I know none of you are stupid, so I just don’t know why it’s been so hard to get anyone to even consider the concept.” He glared down at his crossed arms because Carter was not solely responsible for his mood and did not deserve to be glared at. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot; going over the whole thing, and I can’t find any problems with my logic.” He shook his head. “If it weren’t for the fact it’s really very simple, I’d start to think _I_ was the one being stupid here.”

“I don’t think you’re being stupid,” Carter said with fervor. “It’s just … well, you have to admit it’s not exactly something you normally have to think about.”

“I suppose not.” Kinch looked up. “What do you think?” Carter hadn’t really said anything when he’d been trying to explain it earlier.

Carter pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought for several long moments. Then he relaxed and looked back at Kinch with a small smile. “I think you’re probably right—having to deal with Adler is making Klink skittish, and your reasoning makes more sense than anything I’ve come up with.”

It was all Kinch could do not to thank the other man, but he did grin for a moment before sobering again with something that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Now, if I could just convince Newkirk and LeBeau.” _And Colonel Hogan,_ he added silently. 

“They’ll come around,” Carter said as he stood. “I don’t know why they don’t want to listen to you now, but I know they’ll come around.”

Kinch smiled. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m sure he is,” Colonel Hogan said from the door way, startling both men by the radio. “After all, it took me a while to get it all through my thick skull, and I’ve been right in the middle of this mess.”

To say that Kinch was surprised by the implications of the Colonel’s statement would not have done his feelings justice. “You mean you believe me now, sir?” Almost immediately, he regretted the question because it made him sound desperate to be believed.

Hogan smiled kindly. “Let’s just say I’m more open to the idea than I used to be.” He straightened up, his bearing becoming more business-like. “I want you to get in contact with London—I want to get anything they have about General Adler.”

Kinch frowned. “I’m not sure what they’re going to be able to tell us that they haven’t told us already.” As a rule, when important people came to camp, Hogan contacted London for details on said people just in case there was something about them he could use. According to London, General Adler’s main importance in the Gestapo was the fact his father had quite a bit of money and the older Adler wasn’t afraid to throw it around. Spoiled, rich generals weren’t of much use and, probably, weren’t going to cause too much trouble. So they’d thought, anyway.

“I know,” Hogan said with the barest hint of frustration, “but maybe there were things they didn’t think were important enough to tell us. Unsubstantiated rumors, maybe.” He shook his head. “I find it hard to believe that this is the first time Adler’s pulled something like this. And if he’s done this before, I find it _extremely_ hard to believe that no one has even the slightest idea of what he’s been up to.”

While Kinch doubted the General would still be a free man if someone in Berlin had doubts about his conduct, he saw no point in saying so. Contacting London wouldn’t do any harm, and if there was any possibility it could help, then it wasn’t a waste of time. “Okay, sir.” Then a thought occurred to him. “What should I tell them if they ask why we want to know? Do you want me to tell them the truth?”

Hogan frowned in thought before shaking his head slowly. “We’re treading on the line of giving aid to the enemy here, and I’m not sure London would approve—even taking into account how useful Klink has been to us.” He rubbed his eyes, betraying his weariness. “Tell them... Just tell them to trust me, and, if that’s not good enough, tell them they owe me.”

“And if that isn’t good enough?”

“If that’s not good enough,” Hogan said, determination overcoming everything else, “then send for me—I’ll see if I can’t make them see reason.”

Kinch was suddenly glad he wasn’t in London. “Yes, sir.” 

Hogan turned as though he was going to leave but then turned back. “Carter, could you excuse us for a minute? There’s something I want to discuss with Kinch alone.”

For a moment, Carter looked like he might argue. Then he merely shook his head with a sigh. “Okay, Colonel.”

The Colonel watched the younger man leave with a look of amusement before returning his attention to Kinch, a much more serious expression overtaking of his features. “I need some advice.”

Kinch motioned for his commanding officer to take the chair Carter had just vacated. “If I have any to give, it’s yours, sir.”

That got a slight smile. “Thanks, Kinch. That really does mean a lot.” Hogan took off his hat as he sat down, running a hand through his hair. “Klink said something to me today, and I’ve been having a hard time making any sense of it.”

Kinch uncrossed his arms and set his hands on his knees. “What did he say?”

Hogan looked down at his hat, fiddling with the brim as he spoke. “I was trying to get him to talk about what Adler was up to, so I mentioned that Fraulein Hilda was worried about him.” He smiled again. “Which she is, actually.” He shook his head. “You know what he said? He said that she shouldn’t care—that he didn’t deserve it.”

He half chuckled. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time wondering whether or not I should worry about him—whether or not he deserved my concern—, and he just comes out with that.” He looked up from his hat. “Why would he say that? I can understand not wanting pity—but not wanting some pretty girl to worry about you?”

It did sound strange. On the other hand, Hogan did say Klink was planning on ending it all. “Maybe he wants to make it easier to kill himself. If no one’s worried about him, he’s got no reason to tough it out.”

Hogan was already shaking his head. “That would make sense except he told me doesn’t want to kill himself.”

Kinch felt himself frown. “But you said that he—”

“No,” Hogan interrupted firmly. “He doesn’t want to die. He seemed really adamant on that point.”

“Then why...?”

“He seems to think that killing himself and Adler is the only thing he _can_ do.” Hogan ran a hand through his hair, his frustration plain. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell me _why_ he thinks that’s the only thing he can do. God forbid the man make this easy!”

There was something about the way the Colonel said this which made Kinch wish he’d heard this conversation for himself. “What happened?”

“He asked me why I wanted to know—why I should care one way or the other. ‘Just tell me the truth—that’s not too much to ask for, is it?’” Hogan stood up abruptly, leading Kinch to suspect the answer to that question had been ‘yes’. “So, I told him the truth … at least, I thought it was the truth.” He huffed. “I’m such a good liar, I can fool myself.”

Kinch felt his brow furrow. “What did you tell him?”

Hogan’s back was to him so Kinch couldn’t see his expression, but the tenseness of his posture told the radioman just as much. “I told him that the reason I cared about his welfare was because his death would be...” his shoulders slumped. “Inconvenient.”

Kinch winced. He’d known his commander wasn’t the most empathetic person around, but he would have thought he’d know better than to be so blunt—there was such a thing as too much honesty! “What happened then?”

“He said that at least he knew where he stood with me—which is a lot more than I can say,” Hogan said, sounding annoyed with himself. “I didn’t actually _say_ his death would be inconvenient, you know: he connected those dots on his own.”

A smart man knew when to ask questions and when to wait. Kinch was a smart man, and he didn’t have to wait long before Hogan sighed. “I’d thought I could keep all this on a purely professional level which, in hindsight, was pretty damn stupid of me considering what we’re talking about here.”

It had been stupid, but Kinch understood perfectly why the Colonel would want to try distancing himself from the situation. That was what he’d been afraid of—Hogan not being able to be open enough to gain the Commandant’s trust. Then he frowned as something Hogan had said at the beginning returned to him. “What do you mean you thought it was the truth? Isn’t it?”

Now Hogan turned back, shaking his head. “I’ve spent some time thinking about this, and I’ve realized I couldn’t have gotten further from the truth if I’d tried.”

Kinch was used to being caught off guard by Colonel Hogan, but he usually could understand the leaps of logic after a moment or two. This time, he was a bit lost on the fine points. “But—”

The Colonel raised his hand for silence. “From a purely professional perspective, Klink has outlived his usefulness to us. You can’t manipulate a man who can barely stand to have you in the same room, for starters. He’s unpredictable now, and that makes him dangerous. I found that out this morning.”

His lips pulled back into what could have been a grin but wasn’t. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he’d pointed a gun at my chest. He could have killed me. The fact that he didn’t I can only really attribute to luck.”

“You mean he actually tried to kill you?” Kinch asked, horrified.

Hogan shook his head. “I don’t think he actually wanted to hurt me, but he’d been a little wild-eyed by then—he could have just as easily shot me by accident as by design.” He rubbed his eyes, tired. “I want to try and get the old Klink back if I can, but, honestly?, it’d be easier to start from scratch with someone else. I wouldn’t have to worry about aiding the enemy, for one thing.”

It made sense, and Kinch was surprised he hadn’t considered the problem from this angle before. However, now there was one thing he no longer understood. Hogan and Klink were anything but close. “So, why do you want to help him, sir?”

For a long moment, it seemed as though the Colonel wouldn’t answer him. Then he shook his head, a weary smile tugging at his mouth. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

It was a lie, but one Kinch knew better than to contest just now. “Do you want me to contact London now?”

Hogan nodded. “And while we wait for that to go through, you can tell me how I can salvage this mess.”

“Yes, sir.” It was going to be a long night.


	28. Going Down

Darkness and sensation washed over Klink in fractured waves. He was aware of what was happening, but he felt as though he was floating. Not a part of it. He could hear Adler’s whispering, could feel the other man, but it wasn’t happening to him. And if it was, it hardly mattered: he was anchored to the moment in only the vaguest of ways.

Towards the end, it mattered, and he came back to himself but not for very long—even that shame was muted into insignificance.

Klink’s eyes were open, but there was little to see without the lights on. He was aware of Adler laying next to him, pulling him into an embrace, and he didn’t care. The customary disgust and terror were vague shadows lingering at the edge of his consciousness as his back came to rest on Adler’s chest. There was a part of him which worried over this development, but that worry was as faint as everything else he felt.

“How do you feel?”

It was a fair question. Klink considered it as well as he could. “I...” he trailed off, finding the words he wanted to say very hard to form. The words were there—it was just taking an effort to say them. His mind felt fuzzy, and his body felt far away. “Feel strange.” A small curl of fear touched his thoughts. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be having this much trouble saying a simple sentence; he was almost sure of it.

Adler made a hmm noise. “Perhaps you’ve had too much Eukadol.” He hugged Klink closer, pressing Klink against him. “I’ll try giving you a little less next time.”

Ah. That would explain it. Klink felt what fear he’d felt evaporate. There was nothing wrong with him after all. _Well,_ he reconsidered, _nothing beyond the obvious._

“—me?”

Klink opened his eyes with a start. When had he closed them? “Wha?”

“I said,” Adler repeated, sounding a little annoyed for having to do so, “doesn’t it go better for you when you don’t fight me?”

“Fight you?” Klink mumbled. “I don’t. I don’t.” He only wished he was brave enough to. A faint shard of self-loathing stabbed into him before fading away. “What do you mean?”

He could feel Adler’s laughter against his spine. “As if you didn’t know!” He kissed the back of Klink’s neck. “You’re doing it now—changing the subject instead of answering my question.” A squeeze. “There’s no point in denying it, Wilhelm.”

Klink frowned to himself as he digested this. Adler must have a very lax definition for the word ‘fight’, and that was all there was to it. Because Klink knew his resistance, if it could even be called that, was weak at best. If _that_ was what Adler considered ‘fighting’, then he must consider breathing at the wrong time to be resistance! He made a sound that was supposed to be a chuckle but was more like a cough.

“But, to get back to the question, isn’t it better when you’re relaxed?”

“Relaxed?” What did being relaxed have to do with anything? He wasn’t relaxed—he was drifting. Floating. He was only tied down by the thinnest of threads. Threads which could snap at any moment and leave him completely ungrounded.

“Wilhelm?”

Shaking his head, Klink tried to focus. Now, what had he been thinking of? Adler. Fighting Adler. He didn’t fight Adler. The suggestion was absurd. He smiled, and he might have laughed, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he actually had. Fighting Adler. Ridiculous. If he’d been fighting Adler, he wouldn’t be here. Wherever here was. Somewhere. Probably somewhere...

Something hit Klink’s face. He blinked and realized he could see light. He was on his back, and he was looking up at Adler, who seemed worried.

“Wilhelm? Can you hear me?”

Klink nodded slowly: his head felt heavy. He wondered why Adler was so worried. He wondered when Adler had found the time to get dressed again.

The General smiled, obviously relieved. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to wake up at all. Are you feeling any better?”

The parts of Klink aware enough to realize there was something wrong wondered what exactly Adler would have done if he _hadn’t_ woken up. The rest of him fumbled around for an answer to the question. He had to answer questions; he could remember that much. “I ... I don’t know,” he said at last because he didn’t. He didn’t feel bad, but he couldn’t say he felt good either. And better than what? If Adler wanted answers to his questions, he needed to be clearer.

Adler brushed Klink’s cheek with his knuckles. “Do you feel sick?”

Taking stock of himself took several moments of hard gained focus. “I don’t think so?” He didn’t feel anything. Not that that meant anything at all, really. He supposed he could be very ill and not realize it. After all, he knew his backside ought to hurt quite a bit and it didn’t. That was the whole point of taking painkillers, wasn’t it?

“Hmm.” Adler seemed to be considering something before sighing in defeat. “Nothing else for it, Wilhelm. Up we go.” He bent down and pulled Klink to his feet. “Next time, I’ll have to take care to be sure of exactly how much I give you.”

Klink blinked stupidly, letting himself be dragged to the bathroom. “General?”

“I wouldn’t have imagined you were such a light-weight,” Adler complained as he set Klink down on his knees in front of the toilet. “It’s probably too late for this to do much good, but it’s worth a try, I think.”

Before Klink could put the question he wanted to ask together, Adler had joined him on the floor and had his hands on his face. When Adler told him to open his mouth, Klink complied without thinking. He regretted it a moment later when he felt the other man’s finger brush the back of his throat.

There wasn’t much to bring up, but his body dutifully brought up what little there was.

Once it was finished, Adler tried to make him vomit again. And then a third time. The dry heaves that had followed must have convinced the General that a fourth attempt wasn’t necessary. He pat Klink’s back lightly. “How do you feel?”

What an incredibly stupid question. Klink swallowed hard, heading off another bout of heaves. “Awful.”

Adler chuckled lightly and pulled him to his feet. “I think that’s a good sign.” He dragged Klink to the shower and set him into the tub.

Klink had to give the swine one thing: he did feel more lucid now. He felt dizzy, sick, and now fantastically cold thanks to sitting in an ice cold tub, but his brain was no longer so tightly swaddled in cotton. While his body was rapidly going numb, his emotions were now as sharp as ever. Not that he was particularly enjoying them just now. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself. How could he have done it again? What was wrong with him?

He heard a clicking sound and realized his teeth were chattering. He stared up at Adler, who was taking off his uniform jacket. “Wh-what are you d-doing now?”

The other man grinned. “I don’t want to get my uniform wet.” His shirt followed his uniform jacket. To Klink’s great relief, Adler left his pants on.

The shower came on, frigid water adding icy insult to injury. Klink’s breath stopped in his chest, and he was afraid, for a moment, that his heart was going to stop too. Gradually, the water warmed, and he found he could breathe easily again. At least, he could until Adler decided to play nurse and start washing him, paying particular attention to those parts of him Klink was beginning to despise.

For once Klink was glad he was not a younger man. While nothing could make Adler’s touches less humiliating, at least there was no chance those touches would be able to turn his treacherous body against him again just yet. Klink only prayed Adler would lose interest before he recovered.

By the time Adler had declared him clean, Klink could only marvel at how the swine could manage to make soap feel like filth. After a humiliating rubdown, Adler watched Klink dress in his pajamas, muttering to himself as Klink struggled to get his limbs to cooperate with him. Klink’s mind, while still muzzy, was more or less in working order, but his body seemed only nominally under his control. He prayed this was only due to the painkiller and not due to any new injuries he’d sustained. However, as God hadn’t answered any of his other prayers, he doubted he’d be so lucky.

Once he was dressed, Adler led him back to the bedroom and made him lay on the bed. He covered him with the blanket before going to sit by Klink’s feet. Running a hand through his hair, Adler shook his head. “It’s so much easier when you only plan to use a man once,” he said, his tone asking sympathy for his plight. His hand came to rest on Klink’s knee. “Of course, that isn’t nearly as much fun as this has turned out to be.”

Fun. Klink had never heard such an innocent word used so badly before.

Then Adler sighed like a disappointed parent. “I’ve tried my best to be gentle with you, but you don’t make it easy for me.” He started rubbing Klink’s knee through the blanket. “You wouldn’t be in so much pain right now if you could just accept me.” Adler’s hand started creeping up Klink’s thigh, and Klink shuddered. “When you fight me, you hurt no one but yourself.”

It was amazing how Adler could say things like this without any hint of humor. Hurt _himself_? As though the beast had nothing to do with it! As though Klink had managed to find some way of sodomizing himself. As though he’d given himself those ugly bruises on his hips.

“I don’t know why you bother to fight,” Adler went on, his hand making slow, steady progress. “You enjoy it almost as much as I do, don’t you?”

“No!” Klink exclaimed, surprising himself with the volume if not the vehemence. Whatever his own doubts on that score, he did not want to give this monster a ‘yes’ to the question so meekly. Especially with his own doubts on that score.

Adler laughed, and the sound made Klink’s flesh crawl. “And I suppose I simply imagined the mess you made earlier!” His hand came to rest just below Klink’s groin. “The body doesn’t lie, Wilhelm, and your body tells me that you enjoy this very much.”

His body told him the same thing. Disgust churned in his stomach. “I don’t,” he whispered, not sure exactly whom he was trying to convince.

More laughter. “You don’t even sound like you believe it yourself.” He stood and came up to the head of the bed. Leaning down, he brought his face very close to Klink’s own. “Think of how much easier this would be for you if you’d just admit this is what you want.” Adler kissed him deeply and Klink forced himself to keep still until it was over. “Your resistance only makes it difficult for _you_ ,” he said after he broke the kiss. “It makes little difference to _me_.”

If that was true … why was Adler even bothering to say these things? What was he after with all this? Klink wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he wanted no part of it. Nothing would make what Adler was doing right. Nothing would make it less than the violation it was—no matter how much his body betrayed him and no matter what words Adler made him say. He tensed as Adler reached out for his face, putting a hand on his cheek.

“Just think about it. I’m going to be getting a lot of use out of you—wouldn’t you rather be happy?”

 _I’d rather be dead._ Klink was very glad he managed to keep this thought to himself, but he meant every word of it. Whether or not he was a pervert—as the evidence seemed to point to—, and whether or not he ... enjoyed these trysts with Adler in even just a physical way—which he clearly did—, he would rather die than get to the point where he didn’t mind Adler’s touch. To the point where he liked it.

“I know I’ve been rather demanding the last couple of days,” Adler said softly, his fingers lightly stroking, “but I’ve got an idea about something I can do about that while we’re here. Something to lessen the strain on you.”

Instinctively, Klink did not like the sound of this. A favor from Adler was unlikely to be much better than his punishments. And something about this statement worried him although he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. However, he wasn’t about to ask for an explanation: Adler could set up his own board for these games he wanted to play.

If Adler was disappointed by the lack of response, he hid it well. “But we can discuss that tomorrow—you’ve had enough excitement.” He straightened up, suddenly businesslike, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a bottle and frowned down at it for a moment before giving a half shrug. Opening the bottle, he dumped a handful of pills into his palm. Then he walked over to Klink’s dresser and deposited a small amount of them there, putting the rest back into the bottle.

“Here is something to help you tomorrow if you need them.” He turned and gave Klink a serious look. “Seeing how poorly you reacted to these, I suggest you use them sparingly.”

Klink nodded. Odds were he _would_ need something once what was already in his system wore off. However, he refused to feel the least bit grateful for the relief offered there—if not for Adler, he wouldn’t need any pills in the first place.

“I have some things to attend to in the morning, but I will be back in time to discuss the new arrangements I have in mind.” Adler smiled. “No need to look so worried, Wilhelm. I think you’ll see the virtue of it.”

Virtue. As though Adler had any idea what that word meant.

“Until tomorrow.”

And no need to worry? Klink was vaguely aware of Adler’s parting kiss as his mind latched onto this new thing he had to worry about—whatever the beast’s newest plan was, it was sure to involve something horrible. He shook his head slightly because, for once, Adler was right—there _was_ no need to worry. It wasn’t as though whatever arrangements Adler was thinking of mattered anyway: as soon as he got the orders for his transfer from General Burkhalter, Klink would do what needed to be done.

As Adler walked out of the bedroom, Klink couldn’t deny more than a small part of him was looking forward to it. A bullet through the brain was the least either of them deserved.


	29. Mending Frays

It had been a long night. Hogan hid a yawn as Sergeant Schultz performed the Roll Call. Colonel Klink had yet to show, but Hogan didn’t expect him to: he hadn’t showed for any of the rolls yesterday, and after that-over long morning roll, Schultz hadn’t even waited for him before dismissing everyone.

So, the Commandant was either still indisposed or else had simply decided he no longer wanted to be part of the rolls at all. Considering the way Klink insisted on being so jumpy around men, the latter wouldn’t be too much of a surprise.

Hogan yawned again. He was tired. For one reason or another, he hadn’t managed to get a full night’s sleep (or at least five hours strung together) ever since this business had begun, and he could feel himself starting to drag. Still, he was used to going on little sleep—he was nowhere near his limit yet. There would be plenty of time for sleep once all of this was settled.

As for when _that_ would be... 

For the moment, blocking the outgoing calls seemed to be doing the trick to keep Adler from contacting General Burkhalter, but Hogan knew better than to believe that would stymie Adler for much longer. He had to come up with something more permanent. Unfortunately, until he heard whatever London had to tell him—if anything—there was little point in trying to figure out the details of a grand scheme. He had a couple ideas on the back burner in the event London had nothing, but until he knew one way or the other, he’d let them simmer.

He did know that he’d have to act soon. Klink was definitely in a bad way, and, frankly, Hogan wasn’t sure how much longer the man would last. If Klink cracked before Hogan could think of some solution to this Adler problem...

Hogan shook his head, yawning into his hand. Once roll was finished, he’d see about catching ten or twenty winks before going to see the Commandant. Thanks to his ham-handed handling of things the other day, that situation required a very delicate touch to repair, and being a little more rested before attempting it would not hurt. Besides, Klink wouldn’t be going anywhere for at least a little while longer.

* * *

He’d actually slept for an hour and a half rather than the forty minutes he’d planned on. Hogan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, annoyed with himself even as he conceded the sleep had done him a world of good. Even if he wasn’t sure whether Kinch’s late night advice would help with the Commandant, at least now he felt like he could actually go through with it.

First though, he wanted to see if London had gotten back to them. London was unpredictable in that respect—sometimes, they heard back from them within hours; other times, it took days or weeks. It would be nice if this turned out to be a quick return, but Hogan didn’t hope. He’d realized in very short order no amount of hope sped London up. He had no choice but to wait however long they decided to take.

Hogan heard raised voices before he reached the radio room. Newkirk and Kinch. They were angry and shouting things they had no business shouting considering how many people could be down here at any given time. It was probably ‘safe’ enough at the moment since there were no new missions in the works, but that wasn’t the point.

“Because he didn’t fight hard enough? And I suppose you wait until a girl tries clawing your eyes out before you believe she doesn’t want anything to do with you!” Kinch sounded furious, and Hogan wondered how long they’d been arguing for the usually even-tempered radioman to reach this state.

“Of course not, you damned Yank!” Newkirk spat back.

Hogan hurried his pace. This sounded like it could come to blows.

“Really? Then how can you say the Commandant wants this because he didn’t fight enough? Whatever _that_ means. I’m starting to wonder if you can tell the difference between playing hard to get and terrified!”

“Why, you _dirty_ —”

“That’s enough!” Hogan barked, barging into the radio room. Both men turned to him, both still too angry to be chagrined about being caught acting so unprofessionally. “Newkirk, report to my office.”

“But, Colonel, he—”

“Now, Corporal!”

For a moment, the other man looked like he was going to refuse before stalking passed Hogan, his rage an almost palpable thing.

Hogan waited until the Corporal was out of sight before turning his attention to Kinch, who had calmed down enough to look embarrassed. He opened his mouth before seeming to think better of it.

Which was just fine. “Has London gotten back to us yet?” Hogan asked, deciding to take care of the business which had brought him down here first.

Kinch shook his head. “We’ve, we’ve established contact, but they don’t have anything for us yet, sir.”

Disappointing but no real surprise. “Let me know as soon as that changes.” Then he frowned down at him. “Now, would you mind telling me what exactly just happened here?”

Kinch sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, sir. Newkirk came down, and we started discussing the Klink situation.” He shook his head. “He just got under my skin.”

“Newkirk has a way of doing that.” Hogan let his expression soften a bit. “I know this is a bit of a sensitive subject for you, but you’re not going to be able to convince everyone to take it as seriously as you do.” He put his hand on the Sergeant’s shoulder. “You might have to accept that you and Newkirk will never agree about this.”

“I’m starting to get that feeling,” Kinch agreed, sounding frustrated. “I just don’t understand why he refuses to see it when it’s so clear to _me_.”

Hogan took his hand back. “You’ve tried, Kinch, and whether or not he agrees with you is on him. Why he doesn’t see it is his problem.” He regarded Kinch with a serious expression. “But, consider this: We work best as a unit: we don’t have to agree, but we have to respect each other.” He smiled. “I’d hate to see you let this disagreement you’re having destroy your friendship, wouldn’t you?”

Kinch considered this. “I think I’ll wait until Peter’s had a chance to cool down first.”

Hogan let himself grin. “That’s probably a good idea.” His grin faded away—he still had Newkirk to sort out, and experience told him that conversation wouldn’t go as smoothly as this one had. “Let me know as soon as London has anything for us.”

“Yes, sir,” Kinch said with a salute.

Hogan returned it before heading back to Barracks 2 proper. All too soon he was inside his office with a sullen and angry Corporal Newkirk. The English man was leaning on the bunk, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. As soon as Hogan shut the door, Newkirk stood up, but his arms remained where they were. “Sir,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Corporal.” Hogan came to lean on the desk. Newkirk’s eyes followed him. “What happened down there with you and Kinchloe?”

“I told Carter it was a waste of time to go down there,” he muttered, turning his gaze to the floor. “I told him that there was nothing Kinch could say to change my mind, and I was right.”

That explained why Newkirk had been there arguing with Kinch in the first place. “And I’m sure you didn’t make it easy for him either, did you?”

Newkirk had the grace not to deny it. “I can’t help myself, governor,” he confirmed. “The whole thing is just so … barmy. And, I’ve said from the start that it’s none of our business what Klink wants to do—I can’t understand why Kinch thinks it’s more than it is.” He uncrossed his arms and looked at Hogan. “It’s all so ridiculous—Klink letting someone bugger him. I don’t see how Kinch can take it so seriously.”

Hogan nodded. “I can understand that,” he said, recalling only too well when he’d dismissed what Kinch had to say for similar reasons, “but Kinch _does_ take it seriously.” Before the Corporal could protest, he pressed on. “I’m not saying you have to agree with Kinch—I’m not even saying that you have take the situation as seriously as he and I do. However, I expect you to act like a professional and to treat Kinch with the respect he deserves. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Something about the way Newkirk said this hinted that there was more troubling him than just a simple disagreement with Kinch.

It was tempting to let it lie, but Hogan was tired of letting things settle only to learn too late what he’d let get covered up. “Is there something else you want to say, Newkirk?”

Newkirk hesitated, telling Hogan he’d been on target, before the Englishman confirmed it with a curt nod. “He called me a bloody rapist,” he said tightly, the anger not quite covering over the hurt. “Just because he and I don’t see eye to eye on this doesn’t mean he can say that to me!”

While Hogan found it hard to believe that Kinch would say something like that to Newkirk, Newkirk could usually be trusted to tell the truth when it was important. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said I was a rapist,” Newkirk insisted. “Right before you came in—you had to have heard him!”

Hogan hadn’t quite started shaking his head when he stopped himself. True, he hadn’t heard Kinch say the words: “Newkirk, you’re a rapist!”, but he _had_ heard Kinch say something which could be taken that way. The implication of the statements was pretty plain, and, just as plainly, Newkirk had picked up on it.

Still, when he’d spoken to Kinch, the radioman seemed more than willing to reconcile with Newkirk, meaning Kinch probably didn’t really believe what he’d implied. No doubt Kinch, angry and frustrated, had simply tried to hit Newkirk closer to home in an effort to force him to agree with his point.

It appeared the shot, for whatever reason, had hit a little _too_ close to home, and Newkirk had taken it to heart. It was clear to Hogan, unless he laid down some kind of groundwork, Newkirk would not be very receptive towards Kinch no matter _what_ the Sergeant said.

He didn’t sigh, but he felt like he could have. So many delicate operations and so little time to perform them all! Unfortunately, there was nothing else he could do but jump in and hope for the best. “I take it you told Kinch that the Commandant was just playing hard to get with Adler?” 

Newkirk seemed confused by the question. “Yeah. So? What does that have to do with anything?”

He wasn’t going to be able to change Newkirk’s mind on the Klink situation—as he’d told Kinch, that was up to Newkirk now—, but he had to convince the Englishman Kinch didn’t think so little of him. “You know how seriously Kinch is taking this. To him, saying that Klink’s playing hard to get sounds as ridiculous as saying, well, that you’re a rapist.” Seeing no response from the other man, Hogan continued on. “He doesn’t see a difference between the Commandant being blackmailed into having sex and a woman in the same situation. You wouldn’t think a woman who had to be hurt to agree to sex was playing hard to get, would you?”

“But it’s not the same!” Newkirk exclaimed with some heat. “Would _you_ have let General Adler bugger you? Would you just bend over or would you fight?” He crossed his arms, defiant. “I know which I would do.”

Hogan took off his hat, running a hand over his hair. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Newkirk—what you believe is your business. I’m just explaining where Kinch is coming from with this.” He put his hat back on. “When I spoke to him, he agreed with me that this disagreement you have over this topic isn’t worth destroying your friendship—or weakening our operation—over, and he didn’t act like I was asking him to reconcile with a rapist. He’s willing to let bygones be bygones.”

When Newkirk didn’t speak, Hogan spread out his hands in a beseeching gesture. “Are you telling me that you’ve never said something you probably shouldn’t have said when you were frustrated?”

Newkirk shook his head. “Why aren’t I hearing this from him then?”

“Because he wants to wait for you to cool down.” Hogan grinned. “Tell me the truth, Newkirk, would you have heard him out ten minutes ago?”

After a moment’s consideration, Newkirk chuckled. “No, probably not.” He sighed. “All right, Colonel, I’ll talk to him. Soon. Promise.”

One crisis averted. Several more to go.

He’d been just about to suggest to Newkirk that sooner would be better when the office door opened and LeBeau burst through it, followed closely by Carter. “General Burkhalter is here, _Colonel_!”

A quick glance out the window confirmed the presence of a staff car out in the compound. Another glance saw General Burkhalter enter the office building, trailed by an obviously anxious Klink. “What could he want?” Hogan asked, knowing as he did so there was only one thing Burkhalter’s visit could be about. Adler hadn’t been able to call the Luftwaffe General himself, true, but Adler _had_ already contacted Berlin about the subject. Clearly, Berlin had passed the word along.

“What are you going to do, sir?” Carter asked.

Hogan shrugged on his coat. ‘Good question’ was what he thought; “Keep Burkhalter from transferring Klink, if I can,” was what he said. “You might as well listen along—it’ll save me the trouble of repeating it all later.” He strode out of his office before turning to give the men his best devil may care grin. “Wish me luck.”

He had the sinking feeling, as he turned back and started out of Barracks 2, he was going to need it.


	30. Conspiracy Queries

Schultz had decided to save himself some time and retrieve the Kommandant’s breakfast before going to him to report on Roll Call. Like yesterday, the Big Shot was on the couch. Unlike yesterday, while he was still wrapped up in his blanket, he was awake and sitting up—a sight which made Schultz fairly relieved. Yesterday morning had shaken him, and he never wanted to be in that situation again.

“What is it?” Klink asked, wrapping the blanket around himself more securely. His irritation did a poor job of cloaking the fear in his eyes, and all Schultz could do was wonder what he was so afraid of. He had to wonder: he wasn’t about to ask.

Saluting, Schultz did his best to put it out of his mind. “I’m pleased to report that all the prisoners are present and accounted for!” Then he raised up the plate in his other hand. “I have also brought you breakfast.”

Klink looked less than enthused. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He sighed. “Just, just put it on the table.”

Once Schultz had done so, he turned back to see the Colonel limping towards the table, mumbling pain-filled curses under his breath. For a moment, Schultz considered offering his help before remembering the Big Shot’s order to keep his hands to himself. Finally, Klink collapsed into the chair, wincing and breathing hard.

“Are you all right, Kommandant?”

He shook his head. “On my bureau—there are some pills. Bring me one. And water.”

Schultz saluted; a wasted effort since the other man wasn’t looking up. “Yessir.”

The bedroom was dim, but there was enough light from the curtained window to see by. The bed was unmade, naturally, seeing as the Kommandant, for whatever reason, had taken to sleeping on the couch instead. He frowned. From casual inspection, he couldn’t see anything wrong with the bed. Still, if the Big Shot wanted to sleep on the couch instead of in a bed, that wasn’t any of his business.

There was also an odd, yet familiar, smell in the air Schultz couldn’t quite place. Deciding he had no wish to linger in the stuffy room, he took a pill from a small pile on the Kommandant’s bureau and got a glass of water from the bathroom before making his exit.

“Here, sir.”

The Kommandant took them from him. “Thank you.” He looked at the pill in his hand before swallowing it with a gulp of water and a grimace. He set down the glass and picked up the fork, peering down at his breakfast with a vague look of disgust.

Certainly, mess hall breakfasts weren’t the best, but today’s offering of eggs and bacon didn’t seem to warrant the Colonel’s reaction. And didn’t he skip dinner last night? “Aren’t you hungry, sir?”

Klink started, then seemed almost guilty. “I, I think I might be coming down with something.” He stabbed half-heartedly at the eggs. “I haven’t felt like eating for days.”

Schultz wasn’t always good at spotting these things, but he had the feeling the Kommandant was lying to him. When the Big Shot was sick, he made a bigger deal of it. Still, Schultz had never seen the man truly ill—maybe this was how he behaved when it was something serious. “Is that what the pill was for?”

He seemed to be considering it before shaking his head. “No. I … I,” he laughed bitterly, “I hurt myself last night.”

Schultz frowned. That sounded pretty serious, all right. “Do you need a doctor, Kommandant?”

“No!” Even Klink seemed startled by his vehemence. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he spoke in a softer tone. “There’s no need to trouble anyone over it.” His smile was less than convincing, and he abandoned it with a sigh. He looked back down to the plate, shaking his head tiredly. “It’ll all be over soon anyway.”

And what was _that_ supposed to mean?

Before Schultz could decide whether or not to ask this question, there came a knock on the door. After a moment, Hilda poked her head inside, her face flooding with relief as she saw the Kommandant—no doubt she was just as happy that yesterday morning couldn’t repeat itself as Schultz had been. She stepped fully into the room. “Colonel?”

Klink turned in his chair to look at her, confusion making a nice change from the fear which had tinged his expression all morning. “Fraulein? What is it?”

“General Burkhalter’s secretary just called, and she said that the General would be here within the hour.”

After a momentary flash of confusion, the blood swiftly drained from the Kommandant’s face. “He’s coming here?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood quickly. Too quickly. Immediately, he cursed and looked like he might fall back into his chair, his face almost gray.

“Sir?” Hilda stepped forward, worried. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “Just tell me when he arrives.” Limping, he started towards his bedroom before stopping short. “Have you told General Adler?”

A flash of disgust distorted her features for a split second, leaving Schultz to wonder whether he’d actually seen it and what reason the girl had to hate the General that much if he had. “No, sir.”

For the first time that morning, the Colonel looked pleased. “Good. Don’t tell him.” He turned to Schultz, his expression serious. “I don’t want any visitors until after General Burkhalter is here—understood?”

Schultz saluted. “Yessir!”

With another nod, Klink disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Hilda broke the silence first. “He’s not looking well,” she said, her concern plain. “Why is he limping?”

“He said he hurt himself last night,” Schultz answered, trying to keep from hearing the bitter laughter which had accompanied this statement when the Big Shot had said it. “He said it wasn’t anything serious.”

She seemed skeptical to say the least. “Seems serious to me if he can’t even get out of a chair without hurting himself.”

Schultz shrugged. Whether or not he agreed—and he did—it wasn’t as though he could force the man to go to a doctor if he didn’t want to. And judging from the reaction earlier, he didn’t want to.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hilda gave him a searching look. “May I ask you a question?”

Another shrug. She could ask: whether he had an answer he was willing to give her was another matter.

Stepping closer to him, she crossed her arms around herself. “This is going to sound strange, I know it will, but do you ... do you think General Adler might be... Do you think he could be doing something to the Kommandant?”

For a moment, he could only stare. The idea hadn’t occurred to him. On its face, it seemed ridiculous—the Gestapo didn’t raise their hands to people until _after_ they were in chains. But... But then, he couldn’t deny General Adler was a loathsome person on a different level than most of the Gestapo Schultz had had the misfortune of meeting. As much as he disliked Hochstetter, Schultz couldn’t imagine _him_ trying to molest a prisoner the way the General had.

He also couldn’t deny the Kommandant’s strange behavior the last few days.

Was it really so outlandish to think those things might be connected? Was it really so strange to think, maybe, being thwarted by Schultz and the guards he’d instituted afterwards, Adler had moved on to other prey?

Schultz felt his stomach drop at the thought, and he struggled to keep his expression skeptical. There was no need to alarm the poor girl—especially since he had no real reason to think what he’d thought. All he had were suppositions and, apparently, a dirty mind.

And even if he wanted to entertain the idea he was forcing into the back of his brain, he knew General Adler wouldn’t be the only one arrested if he went to the authorities and was believed.

“Fraulein,” he began carefully, not wanting the girl to get in over her head but also not wanting her to do something foolish to spite him, “I think it would be better not to worry about it too much.” At her disbelieving look, he hastened to explain. “Even if you are right about General Adler, he will only be here for a few more days.” He smiled. “Maybe General Burkhalter is coming to tell him to leave—the inspection report must be finished by now.”

“I sent it out three days ago,” Hilda confirmed quietly.

Schultz smiled. “All we have to do is wait then—I’m sure the Big Shot can handle himself for a few more days.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “You see how he’s been lately—tell me it’s normal for him to act like he’s terrified of you.”

He couldn’t, and they both knew it. “What would you have me do, Fraulein?” he asked at last. “I can’t act against General Adler unless I see him do something he shouldn’t, and I don’t plan to start spying on him.”

“What if _I_ saw something?” Hilda said suddenly, a worrying amount of excitement in her voice. “Would you do something then? If I saw the General do something with my own eyes?”

“And then what?”

She frowned, her rhythm thrown off. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think there may be a reason the Kommandant hasn’t done something himself?” Schultz shook his head. “If something is happening with General Adler, he could have gone to the authorities as easily as we can. Has he?”

She looked down. “No.”

“Then he must have a reason not to,” Schultz said firmly, hoping he’d be able to get through to her. Her concern was admirable, but it seemed to him it would only bring trouble if she wasn’t careful. “If he doesn’t want to go to the authorities himself, he won’t thank you for getting them involved.”

When she looked up again, Hilda seemed abashed. “But there has to be _something_ we can do—we can’t just let General Adler get away with whatever he’s been doing!”

“Shh!” Schultz glanced at the bedroom door and was relieved to find it still closed. “You have to be calm.”

“How can I be calm?” she shot back, more quietly this time. “That man is a snake—you know what the Colonel _looks_ like when I tell him the General wants to see him? And it’s even worse after the General leaves.” She put a hand to her eyes. “He was drinking yesterday—did you know that?”

Schultz shook his head.

“Well, he _was_ ,” she said, her distress plain. “He’d had so much, he could barely stand. And before that, he was staring at nothing, and I couldn’t get his attention at all until I touched him.”

It didn’t sound good. What made it worse was he knew Hilda was a fairly level-headed girl—she was not prone to exaggeration. “Just a few more days,” he held out his hand beseechingly, “just wait a few more days. If the Colonel isn’t better once General Adler leaves, then we can see about doing something.”

She turned away from him. “What if it’s too late by then?” Then she started for the office, leaving Schultz behind.

He stood there a moment before following after her. He closed the door behind him. “Fraulein!”

Hilda stopped but didn’t turn. “I can’t just do nothing, Sergeant.” She bowed her head. “Colonel Klink isn’t my friend, and I know he isn’t yours, but ... but I can’t just watch him fall apart like this.”

“I understand that,” Schultz said, surprising himself—not because he disagreed with her sentiments but because he’d planned to try dissuading her again. “I don’t like seeing him this way either.”

She turned back to look at him, her expression hopeful. “Then you’ll help me?”

Schultz sighed. He should have known when he’d started he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. Still, he had to do something to ensure she didn’t do anything rash. “If you find out what General Adler’s doing—if he’s doing anything at all—, come to me before going to the authorities.”

“Of course!” she exclaimed, looking a little insulted. “Did you think I’d do that without talking to you?”

Before Schultz could try getting himself out of the hole he’d inadvertently dug for himself, the office door opened to reveal General Adler, who seemed very surprised to see them.

“Where is Colonel Klink?”

“He’s indisposed,” Hilda said quickly.

Adler raised an eyebrow. “For how long? I have important business to discuss with him.”

Schultz saluted. “He said he wasn’t to be disturbed for two hours, General.”

The General smiled pleasantly in a way that showed too many teeth. “Is that so?” He started walking towards Klink’s quarters. “We’ll see about that.”

Moving quickly, Schultz came to stand in front of the door. “I’m sorry, General, but I have my orders.”

There was a definite crack forming in the General’s pleasant exterior. “I can see you take your job seriously, Sergeant … Schultz, was it?” He tilted his head. “However, I believe I outrank you _and_ Colonel Klink. So, Sergeant, you can leave.”

Schultz swallowed, suddenly glad that he had his rifle slung over his shoulder, and shook his head. “I take my orders from the Luftwaffe, General,” he said, feeling sweat beading on his forehead.

Adler’s eyes flashed. “So, you won’t allow me to see Colonel Klink, Sergeant?”

Staring ahead, Schultz nodded. “I have my orders, sir.”

For a moment, the General said nothing. Then he chuckled, a low dark sound. “Very well, Sergeant. I will return later.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.

After the outer door closed, Schultz lowered his hand gratefully and breathed out a sigh of relief. That could have gone much worse than it had. He turned to Hilda and offered her a weak smile. “Such a pleasant man.”

“Your definition for that word is interesting,” Hilda said with an equally weak smile of her own. “I don’t think he would have taken ‘no’ for an answer if you hadn’t been here.”

Schultz had the same feeling. He also had the feeling Hilda would have attempted to keep Adler out of the Kommandant’s quarters alone if she’d had to. Recalling the ugly, hateful look in the General’s eyes when he’d left, Schultz made a decision. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” Then he gave her a grave look. “Only follow orders, Fraulein—don’t create your own.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said with just enough guilt to tell Schultz she had been at least considering it. “I only wish I could. But the General would see him in the end anyway.” She shuddered. “Did you see the way he glared at you?”

He had and that was why he was coming back. “Just be careful, Fraulein,” he said seriously. “I don’t think it would bother him if he hurt you.”

Hilda smiled brilliantly. “When am I not careful?” 

Wisely, Schultz kept his mouth shut.


	31. Daymares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a flashback of a more graphic nature in italics - just letting you know in case that isn't something you want to read.

Klink could hear murmuring from the other side of the door. Hilda and Schultz weren’t speaking loudly enough for him to understand the words, but it wasn’t too hard to guess what they were probably talking about. He was both grateful for and annoyed by their concern. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how concerned they’d be if they knew what was really going on. That he’d agreed to be Adler’s slave—no, his toy—in exchange for his increasingly miserable life. He couldn’t help thinking they’d be just as disgusted with him as he was with himself.

Not that he deserved any better.

His shower lasted no more than five minutes. Thanks to Adler’s impromptu bathing session, soap and water no longer made him feel clean. Not that they ever really had, but now that the illusion had been so forcefully stripped away, he found no reason to linger.

He got dressed quickly, trying not to see the marks the beast had left on his arms, his hips, his chest. He couldn’t see his back, but he couldn’t imagine it looked very good either. If General Burkhalter agreed to his transfer and he killed himself ... would the bruises give away what he wanted to hide? Would they be enough to tell the doctor who examined his corpse what he’d been doing? And with whom?

Klink didn’t know for certain, but it was a possibility. And one which he could do nothing about. Unless he tried blowing himself up after he was done with Adler...? No. He didn’t know anything about explosives. Did he want to be publicly shamed, sent to prison, _and_ spend the rest of his life (however long that turned out to be) with a hideous disfigurement and a lot of pain?

He shuddered. All right, so no explosives. At the very least, no one would be able to _prove_ anything since he and Adler would both be dead. Klink tried very hard to ignore the fact that unfounded rumors oftentimes did more damage than official news. If doctor/patient confidentiality ever truly existed, Klink doubted it held any sway once the patient had passed.

But there wasn’t anything he could do to avoid that beyond going to Berlin with General Adler, and that was the one thing he refused to do.

Looking into the mirror to make certain his tie was on correctly, he could see a faint bruise on his cheek. He touched it gingerly and winced. Damn. He put in his monocle, deciding, with something to draw the eye away, the bruise wouldn’t be so noticeable. So he told himself—he had the sneaking suspicion he was just trying to make himself feel better.

If so, it wasn’t working. He wondered if Burkhalter would notice before shaking his head, annoyed with himself for even wondering in the first place. Of course Burkhalter would notice! Doubtless, his superior wouldn’t _care_ , but he’d definitely _notice_. And it wasn’t as though Klink could do anything about it either—he wasn’t about to ask Fraulein Hilda if he could borrow her makeup! He didn’t want to give her any more fuel to feed her obvious suspicions.

He walked out into the living room, pleased to note he was able to get around with little trouble. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about having a very obvious limp on top of everything else. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite able to forget that the only reason he was walking so well was because he had taken a very strong painkiller on an empty stomach. Looking at his mostly untouched breakfast, he couldn’t bring himself to even try eating. He hadn’t wanted to eat it when it had been hot; he definitely didn’t want to force himself to eat it now that it was cold.

He also didn’t feel like cleaning it up. It was very possible he was going to die today: he didn’t want to spend what was left of his time cleaning. A part of him marveled at how calm he was about the prospect while another part of him worried, maybe, he’d overdosed on Eukadol again. Ignoring both parts, Klink made his way to the record player. Considering what was to come, he thought Wagner would do nicely.

As the music started, he settled onto the couch and closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him.

* * *

_“Just try to relax, Wilhelm,” Adler moaned into Klink’s ear as the other man’s body pressed down onto his, into his. “Just let me have you.”_

_Klink’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t think he could relax now if his life depended on it. How could he? He could feel Adler trying to... He shuddered and wondered what Adler would do if he couldn’t—_

_—pain lanced through his tail bone, and he couldn’t hold back a gasp as Adler finally gained the entry he craved. For a moment, Adler rested heavily on Klink’s back, pressing Klink’s ribs into the desktop._

_“That’s right, relax,” Adler crooned. He kissed Klink’s ear. “I’ll give you some time to adjust.” One of Adler’s hands left his hip, sliding down his leg, between his thighs—_

_Klink tried to stand upright, but Adler’s weight kept him down. “Stay still,” Adler hissed. Then he chuckled nastily. “You agreed to let me use all of your body. Besides,” he gave Klink’s anatomy a savage tug, “you can’t get out of this now.”_

_Tears of humiliation and pain pricked Klink’s eyes. Adler was right, damn him. Even if he wanted to risk it, he didn’t see how he’d physically be able to get out of this. All he could do was stand here and wait for Adler to have his fill of this perversion. His hands clenched into tight fists. All he had to do was endure this, and it would be over._

_Adler’s hand moved back up to his hip. “All right, Wilhelm,” Adler said as his fingers dug uncomfortably into Klink’s flesh, “I’ll try to go slow, but you’ll have to help me. Are you ready?”_

_With an effort, Klink forced a ‘Yes’ from his tight throat._

_“‘Yes’ what? Be precise.” Adler’s breath was hot against his ear._

_“I … I’m ready.” Klink whispered. He had never been less ready for anything in his life, but he knew better than to think Adler would be interested in hearing that._

_The feeling of Adler’s movements was unsettling. Unpleasant. Klink’s stomach felt like a knotted mess and his backside ached. Klink closed his eyes, trying not to make a sound—he didn’t want to give Adler the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it was in a sensitive area._

_Incredibly, as Adler settled into a rhythm, Klink’s mind started to wander. Why would anyone want to do this to themselves? Homosexuals did this, so they must enjoy it. Well, they were perverts, so maybe it wasn’t so strange that they would enjoy something as uncomfortable as this!_

_Only... There was something strange happening. He could feel something besides pain as Adler moved. Something building. Confusion and a growing sense of horror consumed him as he realized what he was feeling. But … but that wasn’t possible! How? How could he possibly—?_

_Adler’s hand moved back down between Klink’s thighs. His chuckles confirmed what Klink had tried to deny. “That’s right, Wilhelm,” he panted as he started to stroke. “That’s right. Just let yourself enjoy it.”_

_Klink’s own breath was coming fast now, but he wasn’t sure if it was arousal or if he was becoming hysterical. He felt light-headed and sick. “Pl-please stop,” he begged, knowing as he did so that it would do him no good. “General, I can’t—I can’t—”_

_Adler kissed the side of his neck. “You feel so good. It won’t take much longer.”_

_Blood pounded in Klink’s ears as a familiar pressure continued to build in an unfamiliar place. Adler’s hand picked up its pace. Klink clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t lose control like this. He wouldn’t let Adler demean him. He wouldn’t. He. Wouldn’t._

“Kommandant!”

Klink’s eyes snapped open, and he gaped at the big man standing over him. Terror froze him in place even as his mind gradually realized he wasn’t bent over his desk and that the pale-faced man standing there wasn’t General Adler. “Sch-schultz?”

The Sergeant looked shaken. “Sir?” He shook his head. “General Burkhalter has just arrived at the gate.” He hesitated. “You’ll want to wipe your face, Kommandant.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Klink quickly swiped at his eyes. “He’s here?” He stood up. “All right, Sergeant. You can go back to your duties.”

Schultz opened his mouth as though he wanted to ask a question before changing his mind. “Yessir.”

Klink watched him go and felt himself start to shake. Damn it. He couldn’t start doing this now! He had to talk to General Burkhalter. He clenched his fists. He had to get some control over himself or else Burkhalter would know something was up. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his cheeks as he made his way out of the building. He could do this. He could do this.

He left the office building in time to see General Burkhalter’s staff car come to a stop. He tucked his handkerchief away and tried to smile as he opened the car door for the General. “General Burkhalter,” Klink said as pleasantly as he could manage, giving a salute, “what a pleasant surprise to see you! As always, it’s so—”

Burkhalter glared and the rest of the words died in Klink’s throat. “Do you plan on getting out of my way, Colonel, or are you going to stand there all day like an idiot?”

Klink backed away so quickly, he almost tripped. “Of course not, General.”

He got out of the car and stalked passed him. “Well, come on. I have other things to do besides wait for you.”

“Of course, General. Coming, sir!” Klink hurried after him as quickly as he was able, trying to force the panic bubbling in his brain down. Panicking would not help him now. If he could just hold himself together for a little while longer, he could get through this. He could do it.

Burkhalter took a seat behind Klink’s desk and smiled in that tight, angry way which was only too familiar.

Klink always got nervous when he saw that smile, but now, even as he told himself that he was being ridiculous, he was nervous for a whole new reason. Recalling the General had never given him a return salute, he snapped to attention and saluted again. “Gen-general Burkhalter, sir, I hadn’t expected to—”

Burkhalter tossed off an impatient salute and cut him off sharply. “What you expected is irrelevant, Klink. I’m here to discuss business, not listen to you babble.”

“Of course it isn’t; of course you didn’t!” Then the rest of the General’s statement penetrated. “Business?” Klink slowly lowered his hand, sudden terror at the possible implications of that word making his chest tight. Shaking his head slightly, he reminded himself that Burkhalter was unlikely to talk about any of the things Adler did when _he_ wanted to discuss ‘business’.

Ignoring the question, Burkhalter turned to Sergeant Schultz, who had followed them in from outside. “Go tell the Fraulein that we’re not to be disturbed and then find something to do.”

Usually, Klink liked to have a say when it came to his staff, but his overactive imagination couldn’t help but notice the similarities already between this meeting and the one that had sent his life into a tailspin—he didn’t want to add any more. Schultz left quickly, looking relieved to be leaving. Klink wished he was leaving too.

Once Schultz was gone and the door was shut behind him, Burkhalter’s smile evaporated. “You have some explaining to do, Klink.” While he sounded calm, Klink knew from experience the man was anything but. And that he was waiting for Klink to say something stupid so he could start yelling at him.

Not an auspicious start to say the least. There was little question as to what Burkhalter was here for: the transfer. As for why he’d come in person to deliver the news... Well, if he wanted to find _that_ out, he’d have to play along. Nothing he hadn’t had to do for days now. Swallowing back a sudden burst of bile, he forced his lips to turn upwards.

However, before he had a chance to say that something stupid to get this meeting moving, Colonel Hogan burst into the office, the door slamming closed behind him. He grinned widely at them and fired off a salute. “Did I miss anything?”


	32. General Madness

There was no plan—no time and not enough information to form one. Good thing he was used to working off the cuff! Hogan rushed passed a startled Sergeant Schultz as he was leaving the office building, zipped by Hilda, entered the office, and shut the door quickly behind him. General Burkhalter was sitting behind Klink’s desk, looking as ‘pleasant’ as always. Klink was standing in front of the desk, looking like a nervous pupil who’d been brought before the headmaster.

He grinned at them, saluting. “Did I miss anything?”

Both Germans were surprised by his abrupt arrival, but Burkhalter recovered first. “Colonel Hogan—and here I’d hoped I might be able to _avoid_ seeing you on this visit.”

“Nice to see you too, sir,” Hogan quipped lightly. He sat down in the chair Klink was standing beside and smiled cordially. “Don’t mind me, General. I’m just here to observe.”

Burkhalter drummed his fingers on the desktop. No doubt he was debating whether it was worth the trouble of getting a guard to throw Hogan out. Coming to a decision, the General returned his attention to Klink—laziness or expediency winning the day. “Do you have any idea why I’m here, Colonel?” he asked pleasantly.

Klink tore his eyes from Hogan to look at Burkhalter. “N-no, sir.” The man was sweating bullets, and Hogan worried he might have another breakdown. Now would be a very bad time for Klink to have one—Burkhalter was not one of the more sympathetic Germans Hogan had met.

“As I said, I’m here because I’m hoping you can explain something for me,” Burkhalter said, his pleasant calm signaling the storm to come. 

The signal was received loud and clear. Klink took a step back before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He swallowed hard, and his lips tried, and failed, to form a smile. “Ex-explain, General? I’m afraid I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” Burkhalter questioned with poorly acted surprise. “Then perhaps you’d like to tell me,” Burkhalter’s voice gained both volume and heat with every new word he spoke as his face darkened, “why I’m receiving phone calls from Berlin about transferring you to the Gestapo!” He stood and slapped his hands on the desktop, causing Klink to jump. “If you want a transfer, you clear it with _me_ first! You do _not_ go over my head—is that understood!”

“Yes, General! I understand, General!” Klink gibbered, holding his hands out in front of him as though to ward Burkhalter off. “I’m sorry, Gen—!”

“Shut up,” Burkhalter ordered sharply.

“Yes, General! Shutting up, General!”

Burkhalter regarded Klink for several long seconds before sitting back down. “The next time you do something like this, I _will_ transfer you—right to the Russian Front!” He shook his head, his anger momentarily spent. Then he frowned at Klink and motioned for him to sit. After Klink had hesitantly done so, he shook his head again. “I can understand wanting a post in Berlin, but to want to work with the Gestapo? _That_ I don’t see so clearly.” He leaned forward. “Before I make my decision, I want you to tell me _why_ you want to be transferred.”

Well, Hogan had to admit this was going better than he’d thought. There was no way Klink would claim to want a transfer considering how dead set he was against the idea. The man had told him he didn’t want to die, hadn’t he? And, maybe, if Klink said he didn’t want to be transferred, Burkhalter would decide not to do it...

Klink was silent. He had the look of a man who was weighing his options carefully and wasn’t completely happy about the balance he could strike.

“Well?” 

“I-I don’t want to be transferred,” Klink said at last, quietly and cringing.

General Burkhalter was clearly taken aback by the unexpected answer. “You don’t?”

Klink shook his head. “No, General.”

Burkhalter leaned back in his chair. “Now, that _is_ odd because Berlin told me that you were practically begging to be transferred.” He gave Klink a serious, suspicious look. “So, either they are lying or you are—which is it, Colonel?”

Klink ducked his head. “I... General Adler—h-he’s the one who wants me,” the shudder was almost imperceptible, “transferred.” He took a deep breath before lifting his head up. “He called Berlin—I didn’t even know he’d done it until yesterday. I—I had nothing to do with whatever he told them.”

Now, it was Burkhalter’s turn to be silent. He was frowning. “Adler.” Then his head jerked up in dismayed recognition. “General Josef Adler?”

“You’ve met?” Hogan asked, wondering at the severity of the General’s reaction to the name.

Burkhalter jerked again, evidently having forgotten Hogan’s presence. “No,” he answered to Klink, as though he’d been the one to ask, “but I’ve heard ...” he trailed off before giving his head a sharp shake. “Never mind, it’s not important.” Then he frowned. “Why is that man still here? I received his report.” He shook his head in disgust. “What does he think this is, a resort?”

“If it is,” Hogan piped up, “it’s the worst one _I’ve_ ever been to.”

The General glared. “I thought you were here only to watch.”

Before Hogan could get out another quip to further annoy the German, Hilda’s raised voice heralded the opening of the office door. General Adler strode in closely followed by Fraulein Hilda.

“Sir, they’re having a meeting!”

He waved her off and smiled at Burkhalter. “Ah, General Burkhalter, what a wonderful surprise! I was hoping to discuss something with you and here you are.” Then his eyes fell on Hogan and his expression shifted into something else for a split second before his smile returned. “Colonel Hogan. I see my day is to be full of surprises.”

Hogan smiled back and waved, amazed at how much he had come to hate this man whose mere presence was enough to make Klink go pale. “Well, sir, I figured I ought to be here since the Iron Eagle’s transfer would affect me, too.”

Adler seemed nonplussed for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Of course.” He turned back to Burkhalter. “You’re a difficult man to get a hold of, but clearly Berlin was able to reach you.”

“Yes,” Burkhalter confirmed with distaste. “I’ve had ample time to give the matter of transferring Colonel Klink careful consideration.”

Silence stretched between them. It was a clear contest of wills, and Hogan was starting to think that Burkhalter might be made of sterner stuff than he’d given him credit for. At the very least, his obvious hatred of the man standing in front of him seemed to be outweighing any fear he held for the Gestapo. Perhaps Hogan wouldn’t have to do anything to stop Klink’s transfer after all!

He let his gaze shift from the two Generals to Hilda and Klink. Hilda’s mouth was hanging open, her shock undisguised—this was probably the first time she’d heard anything about the possibility Klink might be transferred. He also noticed she had come to stand between Adler and Klink. Considering her concern over the Commandant’s welfare, it wouldn’t surprise Hogan if it turned out she had done so on purpose.

As for Klink ... He was staring at Burkhalter and Adler like a prisoner praying for a pardon. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. Hogan hoped, for his sake, this battle of wills between the two Generals would be over with soon—as much fun as it was to watch Adler sweat, Klink was clearly not equipped to handle the suspense.

Finally, Adler broke the silence, losing the battle but determined to win the war. “And your decision?”

Burkhalter’s lips quirked up. He reached for the broken cigar box on the desktop, gave it a slightly confused look, shrugged, and started rummaging. “I think,” he said, selecting a cigar to his liking, “that I will be keeping Colonel Klink right where he is.”

It was deeply gratifying to see Adler’s face go slack in complete and utter surprise. “What?” Then his shook his head, his expression shifting into something calmer and much more threatening. “Perhaps, you didn’t understand, General Burkhalter,” Adler’s voice was razor-sharp silk, “my superiors—”

“Are not _my_ superiors,” Burkhalter interrupted, forgoing the mock pleasantness for contempt. “The Gestapo doesn’t control the Luftwaffe just yet, General.”

Anger rippled through the tightly controlled expression. “I will appeal.”

Now, Burkhalter grinned. “Appeal as much as you’d like: it won’t change my mind.” He stood up and put the pilfered cigar in his pocket. “Oh, and, General? Try not to get yourself into any ... _trouble_ while you’re here—the Luftwaffe isn’t on your father’s payroll.”

Hogan felt himself frown. What exactly had Burkhalter heard to make him goad Adler on like this? How much did he know, or think he knew? And if Burkhalter had managed to hear something about Adler out _here_ , the people London had in Berlin must have heard something substantial. If they had … it would have been nice to know whatever they’d known at the start _before_ this mess had begun!

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply,” Adler said stiffly in a way which suggested he knew full well and that the knowledge chaffed, “but my superiors will hear of this, and they will not be impressed by your slander.”

Burkhalter came out from behind the desk. “Slander? For someone who doesn’t know what I’m implying, you seem very defensive.” He waved his hand airily. “No matter. As much as I would love to stay and discuss this all further, I’ve got more important business to attend to.” He walked over to the coat rack without giving Adler another look. After putting on his coat, he hesitated before motioning to Klink. “Come with me to the car, Colonel.”

Klink jumped to attention. “Of course, General Burkhalter. My pleasure, sir!” He followed after the Luftwaffe General, not even bothering to grab his coat in his haste to leave. Glancing at Adler, Hogan could see the fury bubbling just below the surface. The explosion, when it came, would not be pretty. Or safe.

Hogan considered giving the angry German some sort of parting shot but decided discretion was the better part of valor and that Fraulein Hilda, who had stayed behind, needed to be taken out of the war zone before she could be hit by the shrapnel, so to speak.

“Lovely chatting with you, General,” Hogan said, taking Hilda’s arm, “but we really must be going.” Without waiting for a response, he hurried out of the office with Hilda in tow. Once the door was closed, he turned to look at her. She seemed a little dazed and shaken.

“What’s going on around here?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Hogan lied, moving his hand up to her shoulder and gently guiding her to her chair. “But I suggest giving General Adler a wide berth for a while. He’s not a very happy man right now.”

“He’s a snake,” Hilda said with venom. She sat down, suddenly looking worried. “An angry snake.”

“So, stay out of striking distance,” Hogan ordered, recalling the way she’d stood between Adler and Klink earlier. “I’m sure Colonel Klink wouldn’t be happy if you got hurt for his sake.” He paused before adding: “I wouldn’t like it much either.”

She smiled slightly before frowning again. “I just wish I knew what was happening.” She looked up at Hogan, her expression suspicious. “Do you know?”

Hogan spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I have no idea,” he lied. “How would I know? The Commandant and I are not exactly bosom buddies.”

He could tell she didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t contest his claim. “No, I suppose not.” Hilda sighed. “I feel so powerless. There’s something terribly wrong going on here, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Putting his hand on her shoulder, Hogan allowed himself a tired smile. “I know; I’m worried too.” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “But I think the Commandant is a stronger man than you’re giving him credit for.” At her dubious look, he pressed on. “Things might look bad now, but I’m sure he’ll make it through—,” he gave her a lopsided smile and a wink, “he’s managed to survive this long, hasn’t he?”

While she didn’t smile, he could see that his words had eased her mind a little. “Thank you.” Then she regarded him seriously. “If you do find out anything...”

Hogan nodded. What was one more lie on top of all the other lies he’d told her in this conversation? “Just try being your cheerful, charming self when he comes back in, all right?”

Hilda smiled brilliantly in answer.

Grinning, Hogan took back his hand. “Perfect. No man could feel too bad after seeing that.”

Her lips turned down again. “Is that all I can do?”

“That and remember to keep away from General Adler,” Hogan confirmed. Seeing she was still unhappy, he tried again. “Trust me, Hilda, sometimes, seeing a pretty girl smile is enough.” He looked away from her, feeling himself frown. Where was Klink? Whatever he was doing out there with General Burkhalter seemed to be taking a long time!

“Maybe you should go and see what’s keeping him,” Hilda suggested.

It was a good suggestion. He was about to follow it when the outer door opened and Colonel Klink walked inside.


	33. Out of the Fire, Into the Pan

Klink doubted having a chance to stew over this ‘set back’ would improve Adler’s mood, but he was just as happy to put having to deal with Adler’s reaction off for as long as he could. He followed Burkhalter out of his office and out into the open air. It was a bit too cold to be outside without a coat, but Klink wasn’t about to go back in and fetch it.

Burkhalter halted at the bottom of the stairs and motioned for Klink to come a little closer.

Doing his best to stomp on his paranoid imagination, Klink did so and desperately tried not to shiver as Burkhalter leaned in close and started to whisper in his ear.

“Be careful with that one, Colonel,” Burkhalter’s whispered words were raspy. “Make sure he’s never alone with anyone. Especially any of your prisoners.”

Klink swallowed hard and wondered if this warning would have done any good if he’d heard it earlier—before the damage had been done. Feeling particularly uncharitable towards himself at the moment, he decided he probably would have dismissed the concern. “Why not?” he asked, not wanting to give Burkhalter any idea that his warning had come too late.

Burkhalter grabbed Klink’s arm, and Klink flinched. “Don’t talk so loud, you idiot!” the General hissed. “Just do what I say.” He loosened his hold but, to Klink’s dismay, didn’t let go. “Let’s just say I’ve heard some disturbing rumors about that man’s ... preferences.”

“Preferences?” Klink was careful to whisper this time. “What do you mean?” He was doing his best to act like he would have acted before all of this, but it was hard not to feel as though he was laying it on too thick when he knew exactly what Burkhalter was talking about.

Burkhalter let go of Klink’s arm and shook his head. “Even you can’t be this stupid.” He gave Klink a measured look. “If something happens, I want to be informed. If the rumors I’ve heard are true, I think it’s about time someone did something about that pervert.”

Klink opened his mouth but closed it quickly. Even though he thought it was about time himself, he couldn’t turn Adler in. If he informed on Adler about what Adler had tried to do to Sergeant Jackson, he was certain Adler would return the favor: the swine would have nothing to lose by implicating him. He’d been able to see in the mirror the marks that monster had left on his body—with Adler’s corroboration, there would be no question about what he’d been doing lately.

“Of course, General Burkhalter. You’ll be the first one I call,” Klink lied, feeling as though his throat was closing up on him.

Burkhalter stepped back and seemed to consider Klink carefully. Then he frowned and leaned in close again. “What happened to your face?”

Klink swallowed hard and wished he’d taken the time to think of a good explanation for this. “I … I fell out of bed—hit the bedside table.” He forced a laugh. “It wasn’t a good way to wake up!”

Burkhalter was still frowning. “Why do I think you’re lying?”

Even though it was cold out in the open air, Klink could feel himself start to sweat. “I-I wouldn’t know, General.”

A long moment of uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Klink willed himself not to step away. This was it: either Burkhalter would let him get away with his lie or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t...

If he didn’t, Klink didn’t know what he could do.

Finally, Burkhalter stepped back again, troubled. “Very well, Colonel.” He seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “When I get back, I’ll call Berlin and tell them it’s about time they recalled their general.”

“Thank you, sir,” Klink said with perhaps too much enthusiasm as he saluted. He didn’t care: this was great. Not only was he not being transferred to Berlin, but there was the possibility that General Adler would have to leave very soon, too. This was more than he could have hoped for!

“Yes,” Burkhalter said with a furrowed brow. He shook his head again and returned the salute, starting for his staff car the moment it was returned.

Klink stayed where he was until he watched the General’s car drive through the gates. Then he trudged up the stairs, the happiness brought on by his reprieve turning to weary resignation. He felt ill-prepared for the tantrum General Adler was certain to throw once he returned to his office. However, there seemed little point in milling around out in the cold when Adler would be waiting for him no matter how long he lingered. And it was cold.

When he reentered the building, he was immediately greeted by the sight of Colonel Hogan and Fraulein Hilda. He smiled at them wanly, wondering what he’d interrupted. “Colonel Hogan, Fraulein.” He looked to the American. “I have good news for you.”

“Oh, Commandant?” Hogan tucked his hands into his pockets. “What would that be?”

He glanced at Hilda and realized he couldn’t just come out and say it. “That … that thing you didn’t want me to do—I’ve decided not to do it.”

Hogan tilted his head. “Is that right, sir?” He smiled widely. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Wonderful.” The matter taken care of, Klink turned away from him. “Now, go loiter around elsewhere—I’m going to be busy.” Not waiting to see what the American had to say, he walked over to his office door, opened it, and closed it behind him.

When he reentered his office, Adler was leaning against the desk, an icy smile curving his mouth. “Ah, Colonel,” he greeted, the veneer of pleasantness painted over his tone peeling badly, revealing the thrumming rage beneath, “so glad to have you back.” He gestured to the chair in front of him. “Sit down, sit down... We have much to discuss.”

Klink hesitated. Despite his efforts at appearing calm, Adler was obviously anything but. This was not a surprise—considering how the man reacted to his least show of resistance, that Adler wouldn’t take Klink’s open rebellion so well was expected—but that didn’t mean Klink was anxious to be struck. Of course, staying where he was rather than following Adler’s orders would only make the General more angry. Why make this more painful than it had to be?

Slowly, he made his way to the chair and was surprised when Adler made no moves to stop him. He sat down, his hands clasped together in his lap, and waited for whatever was going to happen now to happen.

Adler stepped away from the desk, his smile slipping as he spoke. “What did you tell Burkhalter?”

Klink shrank back in the chair, sick with the knowledge that any answer he gave would be the wrong one. “I—I didn’t tell him anything. I just—” 

In a flash, Adler reached out and grabbed Klink’s jacket front before wrenching him from his seat. “You’re not a very good liar, Klink,” Adler spat. “Now, you tell me what you told him or I’ll wring your worthless neck!”

For a moment, Klink feared he wouldn’t be able to force out the words in time—his heart had jumped into his throat and he was breathing so quickly, he didn’t think he was getting enough air. “He—he asked me why I wanted a transfer—I told him that I, I didn’t want one.”

“What else!” Adler demanded, giving Klink a hard shake. “What else did you say?”

“Ju-just that you were the one to call Berlin,” Klink answered desperately. “Just that you wanted my transfer. That’s all, I swear!”

Adler pulled Klink close, until their faces almost touched. “Don’t think that this is the end of it, Klink,” he growled, spittle spraying onto Klink’s cheek. “I _will_ have you in Berlin—you can count on it.” Roughly, he shoved Klink away, making him land hard and awkwardly on the floor.

Even with the Eukadol, Klink had to hold back a gasp of pain. He stared up at Adler, who bared his teeth in an expression too angry to be a smile. Adler’s hands strayed to his belt, unhitching the buckle, and Klink could only watch in disbelief. Surely, Adler wouldn’t be reckless enough to try something which involved getting undressed now when there was a potential witness just behind the door!

The door. Something about the door set little alarm bells off in his head, but he didn’t have time to give it much thought before Adler started speaking.

“And once again, it seems I must remind you of your place,” Adler said as he pulled off his belt. He held on to the end and lashed out at Klink, the buckle striking Klink’s shoulder with enough force to make him wince. “How many times do I need to hit you with this?” He lashed out again, catching Klink’s arms as he raised them to protect his face. “Ten times?” Thud. “Twenty times?” Thud. “Forty times!”

Klink was unprepared for the savage kick Adler delivered to his ribs. He was still reeling from it, trying to catch his breath, when Adler pulled him up. “How many?” Adler’s hold on Klink’s arms tightened to the point of pain. “How much do you want to bleed?” His eyes were alight with madness, and Klink could only stare dumbly back, wondering if there was anything he could possibly say to save himself.

Nothing came to mind, but seeing how unhinged Adler was at the moment, he had to say something. _Anything_. “I-I-I’m sorry,” he forced out, pain and terror making his voice difficult to control. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Adler froze. Then he frowned, holding Klink at arm’s length. “What are you sorry for, Colonel? Be precise.”

This was promising. Maybe he could defuse the situation after all! Now, if he could just get his mouth to cooperate with him. “I’m, I’m sorry for, for defying you.”

“Is that right?” Adler asked flatly.

Klink nodded vigorously. “Yes, General. I’m very sorry.” He was sorry for ever getting involved with this monster. Very sorry indeed.

A slow smile stretched Adler’s mouth. “Perhaps you won’t have to bleed after all.” He loosened his grip on Klink’s arms and brought one of his hands up to take hold of Klink’s chin. “If you can prove to me that you can remember your place, your punishment won’t be so harsh.” He forced Klink’s face closer to his own. “What do you say, Colonel? Will you show me how sorry you are?”

There was only one answer he could give if he wanted to get through this intact. Thanks to General Burkhalter’s decision not to transfer him, he had a reason to want to. “Yes. Yes, I’ll show you.”

A low chuckle. “All right.” He let go of Klink and took a step back, his hands going to the clasp of his pants. “I think I’ll have you put that big mouth of yours to better use.”

While he had never been one to experiment much in the relationships he’d had, once Adler had freed his penis, it hadn’t taken Klink long to realize where the General was going with this. A small part of him wondered if Adler was insane or just stupid for exposing himself like this in broad daylight in the middle of his office, but most of Klink was simply repulsed. There was no way he could do this.

Adler stroked himself, seeming to enjoy Klink’s horror. “If you use your teeth, you _will_ regret it,” he threatened pleasantly.

Bile burned Klink’s throat like cheap liquor. He was going to vomit. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’—it was ‘when’. There was no way he could do what Adler was demanding of him now. Never mind that he didn’t want to put his mouth on any part of the swine’s body; he knew exactly where that particular part had been less than 12 hours ago!

“Well, Colonel?” Adler’s grin showed too many teeth. “I don’t have all morning to wait.”

He couldn’t do this. If he couldn’t kiss the man without wanting to vomit, he definitely wouldn’t be able to—Klink cut the thought off, his stomach roiling. There was nothing he could imagine that would make this easier for him!

But what were his choices, really?

Judging from the General’s gleeful expression, this new perversion was something Adler wanted quite a bit—was it worth prolonging this encounter just to find out if the beast had an inventive new punishment to force his hand? If he didn’t cooperate now, Adler would do something to make him beg to cooperate later. Seeing as he still hadn’t recovered from the kick he’d received earlier, it probably wouldn’t take much more before he said yes to anything the monster wanted.

Was it worth going through all that just so Adler could have the satisfaction of beating him into submission? There was no way to win.

If there was no way to win, what was the point in fighting it?

Carefully, Klink knelt in front of Adler. He’d already let this animal use him several times already: was there really much difference between submitting to sodomy and submitting to this?

His stomach thought so, but Klink did his best to ignore it. He could vomit once he was finished.

As he prepared himself for what was to come, he couldn’t help but think of Colonel Hogan. Klink doubted Hogan would have given in so easily—no, he knew Hogan wouldn’t have. Hogan would have fought until the end.

 _And Hogan would have been dead by now,_ a practical voice reminded him. The American’s willingness to fight against impossible odds was admirable but not very realistic. Sometimes, a person had to know when to give up: how to surrender with some dignity.

Not that there was anything dignified in what _he_ was about to do. His only experience with fellatio had been being on the receiving end of some awkward teenaged fumbling as an awkward teenager, but from what he could recall, the mechanics were pretty simple. He raised himself on his knees, bringing himself closer to where he would need to be, and pleaded with his stomach to behave long enough for him to get through this.

“I know it’s quite a sight,” Adler teased, his hand coming to rest on Klink’s head, “but I expect you to do more than look.”

Klink had been trying not to look, much like a man on a rickety bridge tried not to look down, but Adler’s words focused his attention. Once that happened—

Vomit filled his mouth and Klink pushed away from Adler’s hand, scrambling. He only barely made it to the trash bin before he had to let it out. He thought he heard laughter, but he paid it no mind: his stomach was busy emptying more than he thought could possibly be in it. A hand settled on his back and his startled gasp caused him to choke. When his stomach and his airway were clear, Klink breathed in great ragged gulps of air. He’d known this was going to happen but the knowing hadn’t made it any better.

“All right, Colonel,” Adler said as his hand made small circles on Klink’s back. “I can see you’re not ready for this yet.” The compassion he’d been trying for was ruined by his obvious amusement. “Still, there must be _something_ you can do to prove you understand your place.”

Klink stared down into the dark trash bin, trying to pretend he couldn’t feel Adler’s erection against his shoulder. He supposed he ought to be grateful he’d gotten a reprieve of sorts, but he was too miserable from the vomiting to feel much of anything. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand. In the last three days, he’d vomited more than he had in the last three months. Maybe the last three years. It couldn’t be very healthy for him.

“I have an idea,” Adler declared, thumping Klink’s back a little too hard. “Since you’re not ready to use your mouth, you can use your hand.” Then his voice took on a warning note. “Can you manage that?”

It was better than the alternative. “Yes,” Klink mumbled to his knees. “I can do that.”

“Then turn around and get to it,” Adler commanded gruffly. “I really hadn’t expected to spend so much time on this.”

Klink turned, too beaten to resist. Bile rose in his throat once more from having Adler’s penis so close to his face, but he was able to swallow it back down. Compared to Adler’s first demand, this would be simple. Taking a deep breath, Klink reached out a shaking hand and took hold. He felt oddly shocked the skin beneath his fingers felt no different from his own. What he’d been expecting, he couldn’t have said, but he hadn’t expected something normal.

It was silly of him to be surprised, he supposed: Adler was only a monster on the inside, after all.

“I think you know what to do, Colonel.”

Reluctantly, Klink moved his hand, hoping Adler’s control was just as poor as his own was these days.


	34. In Medias Res

“Just that you wanted my transfer. That’s all, I swear!” Klink’s voice sounded panicked over the coffee pot, and while the gain on the bug didn’t go up that high, his voice seemed very loud. Quickly, Hogan shut the door behind him after entering his office. There was no need for the few men sitting in the main barracks to hear this.

Kinch turned and smiled slightly in greeting. It was a bit of a surprise to see him—had he put someone else on the radio for a while? Hogan nodded back but didn’t ask what he was doing here—from what he was hearing, there might be something important happening. The questions could come later.

LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk didn’t seem to notice his arrival, their attention riveted to the drama unfolding in Klink’s office. Hogan listened with them until Newkirk shut off the coffee pot as Klink’s silence indicated his agreement to Adler’s not quite spelled out but easily deduced demand. There was no argument. Newkirk shook his head and turned away, stopping short as his eyes lit on his commander.

“Hello, governor,” he said, his cheerful tone strained.

“ _Colonel_!”

“How long have you been here, sir?”

Hogan smiled slightly at Carter. “Long enough to catch all the excitement.”

“That was something, wasn’t it?” Carter’s voice was filled with an almost inappropriate amount of enthusiasm—as though he’d been listening to a close baseball game and the team he’d been rooting for had just won. “I thought Adler was going to really hurt him for a minute there.”

Hogan had thought so, too. However, it seemed Klink knew how to deal with Adler … after a fashion. It was still sickening to have to hear Klink trade himself to appease that man. “Klink seems to have the situation in under control now.”

Newkirk scoffed a bit and muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

“That is a strange way of putting it,” LeBeau objected, ignoring Newkirk’s comment. “It sounds like that _boche_ General is the one with the situation under control.”

“That’s because he is,” Kinch said quietly.

Carter frowned a bit. “I just don’t understand what happened at the end. What did Adler want him to do?” He looked towards LeBeau hopefully.

LeBeau shook his head. “ _Non_. Not me. Ask someone else!”

“Newkirk?”

While Newkirk explained to Carter just what Adler had wanted Klink to do in as vulgar of terms as possible, Hogan turned his attention to Kinch. “Did London get back to us?”

Kinch nodded. “I couldn’t come and get you while you were with General Burkhalter.” Then he smiled. “Seeing how often they make us wait, I figured they could afford to wait for a while.”

That much was true. However, it wouldn’t do to keep them waiting for too long.

“What! Are you serious?”

And that was his cue to leave. “All right, I’ll go speak with London.” He hesitated before deciding against asking whether Kinch and Newkirk had patched things up. There was no point in airing their dirty laundry in front of Carter and LeBeau. Besides, the fact they weren’t arguing now seemed like a good sign.

A few minutes later found him in the radio room. London was not happy about being kept waiting, but Hogan turned on the charm and smoothed the ruffled feathers with his usual aplomb. A smattering of small talk prefaced the business at hand, telling Hogan the information London had for him was something they were reluctant to share. Considering what he knew about General Adler already, this was not much of a surprise.

Eventually, London got to the point. From what they had gleaned from their spies in Berlin, General Adler wasn’t quite persona non gratis just yet, but he was quickly heading in that direction. His father’s money, which had been instrumental in keeping Adler out of trouble thus far, was turning out to be insufficient to quell the rumors about the younger Adler’s indiscretions, and those rumors were finally reaching the ears of those to whom money was immaterial.

Rumors of interrogations that got out of hand. Abused prisoners with strange injuries who were oddly reluctant to share details. Young guards who refused to work with the General for reasons they wouldn’t explain. Nothing too damning but things which could become too damning with just a little more investigation.

Fairly soon, if General Adler didn’t start towing the line, he would most certainly find himself in an uncomfortable position indeed.

London wanted to know why Hogan wanted to know these things. Hogan demurred, saying that his reasons were his business. Of course, London was not pleased, but they were used to not being pleased with him. They did hint, should Hogan be planning to do something with the General, that Adler could prove more useful alive. An SS General was sure to know _something_ of value to the Allies’ cause.

Hogan signed off and leaned back in his chair. His hat found its way into his hands, and he fiddled with the brim as he digested the new information he’d been fed and the Klink situation as it now stood.

Since Burkhalter had flat-out refused to transfer Klink (and had seemed unworried about possible reprisals), did Hogan actually have to do anything at all? Given the way Adler was conducting himself in Berlin, this Adler mess could be sorted out by the man’s own countrymen in due time. On the other hand, seeing as Adler no longer had to risk exposure by finding new prey, the possibility he could control himself well enough to fall back below the radar was also very probable.

While it was possible the Commandant could survive with Adler making visits to Stalag 13, Hogan didn’t want Klink to merely survive: he wanted Klink to become himself again—that wouldn’t be possible if Adler was allowed to come back and destroy what progress Klink made while he was gone.

There was no telling when Adler’s contemporaries would take care of him, if they ended up taking care of him at all. It could take a long time. Time Klink didn’t seem to have. Besides, it didn’t appear anyone in any position to give the situation thorough scrutiny would particularly care should Adler have an accident or simply disappear. The best way to do that would be to wait until Adler was called back to Berlin (which was likely to be sooner rather than later now), or he went somewhere official on his own accord. Then he could leave Stalag 13, leaving the prison camp blameless and reasonably free from suspicion should the man happen not to arrive at his destination.

The ease of the plan! It would be so _easy_ to pull off—

—but could he justify the abuse of his power?

Hogan had to admit that he couldn’t. Even though the plans he was coming up with were all feasible with enough time and most of them held very little real risk to the operatives who would have to carry them out, the fact was taking Adler out of the equation now would be a wholly personal move on Hogan’s part. Keeping Klink alive, it could be argued with just a little fudging, was important to Hogan’s operation here; trying to make it so Klink had a chance to get over what happened to him and become himself again … that was a desire based on nothing but Hogan’s feelings.

The power he held over these men he led was based, in great part, on trust. They trusted him to work for their best interests, and if not for their _personal_ best interests, then for the interest of keeping this operation in a condition to do what was needed to hurt the Axis and help the Allies. They stuck their necks out for him because they believed what they did furthered their countries’ cause.

If he ordered anyone to get involved with this... It would be wrong. It would be a betrayal of their trust. He would have to _ask_ for their help. Moreover, he’d have to ask for it _honestly_ —tell them _why_ he wanted this done. If he didn’t do that, asking them on false pretenses would be the same as ordering them and just as wrong.

But to complete any of the plans he had in mind, he’d need more than just Kinch and Carter. Hell, he’d need more than the four who knew about the Klink situation (assuming he’d ever get Newkirk or LeBeau to help once he explained his reasons). He’d need quite a few men to make anything work. To be fair, to not abuse his power and their trust, he would have to be honest with whomever he asked.

And there was a high probability they would be just as hard to convince as he’d been. If he could convince them at all. It was quite possible that, in trying to collect people to help him with his cause, he could lose the respect of those who didn’t see the situation as he did.

That loss of respect could be detrimental to whatever missions he had to lead in the future. Confidence in his competence was vital—something he couldn’t afford to lose. Something the operation here couldn’t afford to lose.

So, there was no choice.

As much as he hated to let this injustice stand, Hogan couldn’t see any way around it: he would have to leave Klink and Adler to their own devices. He would have to hope Adler wouldn’t be able to toe the line in Berlin and that his countrymen would do what needed to be done. He would have to hope Kink was strong enough to survive until that happened.

That was more hope than Hogan was comfortable depending on, but there was nothing else to be done. He put his hat back on and stood, stretching. Time to go back to the Barracks proper. Maybe he could catch up on his sleep a bit. If he could believe Klink, Klink no longer planned on killing himself. He’d be around later to talk to. Even if Klink had been lying, the locked drawer would deter him for at least a little while.

There was a slight wait when he came to the Barracks. The reason was plain as he was finally admitted. Sergeant Schultz was sitting at his usual place, losing more of his less than hard earned pay. The German had been distracted long enough by LeBeau (offering him a taste of whatever was cooking on the stove) and the poker players to allow Hogan to return to his bunk without any undue notice. He clicked on the coffee pot just to see if there was something going on now.

Gasping. A mumbled voice that was either too low or too far away for the bug to pick up. Adler’s voice biding Klink adieu. A door opening and closing. Silence.

Hogan switched it off. There didn’t appear to be anything left to hear. He lay down on his bunk, not bothering to take off his boots, and closed his eyes.

An undetermined amount of time later, he opened them to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He sat up blearily in time to see Kinch come in, looking concerned. “What is it, Kinch?” Hogan asked as he wiped his gritty eyes. “Is something on fire?”

Kinch shook his head. “No, sir. But I have some worrying news.” He took a deep breath, and Hogan suddenly noticed how winded he looked. “I overheard a couple of the corporals at the mess hall complaining about Colonel Klink coming to them and demanding a crowbar. They gave him one because he outranks them.”

Even in his just awakened state, it didn’t take Hogan more than a moment to realize what this meant. That lying, little weasel—he should have known better than to trust that fink! “How long ago was this?” Hogan asked as he pulled himself out of his bunk, glad he hadn’t taken his boots off.

“I didn’t think they’d tell me if I asked, sir,” Kinch said, apologetically. “But I came here as soon as I heard about it.”

So, more than five minutes. Hogan left his office, Kinch trailing behind him. He ignored the greetings from the assembled men and stepped out of the barracks. He was about to go to the office building when he saw the door open, revealing Sergeant Schultz. Schultz looked troubled, and he was shaking his head, but he wasn’t acting like Hogan would have expected the man to act had Colonel Klink succeeded in ending his life. So that meant Klink was still alive. At least, it meant he was still alive for the moment.

If he was determined enough to borrow a crowbar to get into that drawer, Klink must want to use the pistol inside quite badly. It was entirely possible there would be no reasoning with the man today. “I think you better come with me,” Hogan said quietly as he slowly started towards the office building. “I might need some backup.”

His stride became faster the closer he came to the building. As he hurried up the steps, hearing Kinch’s own footfalls behind him, he could only hope that he’d be in time.


	35. Ignorance Was Bliss

Hilda worried her nail, tasted polish, and grimaced. She returned her gaze to the closed office door and wondered what she should do. The shouting had started and stopped too suddenly to mean anything good, and the continued silence was not encouraging. She should try to see what was happening. She should.

She remained seated. It had been easy to tell Sergeant Schultz that she was going to find out what General Adler was doing to the Kommandant, but now, when it came down to it, she was hesitating. She hadn’t changed her mind about wanting to help Colonel Klink if she could, but she was starting to get the feeling that, whatever this was all about, it was something big. Too big for her to do anything about. Too big for her to deal with without someone standing behind her.

But what other choice did she have? Schultz wouldn’t act unless she gave him something certain to act on, and Hogan … well, she wasn’t sure what _he’d_ be able to do about General Adler, assuming he’d want to do anything in the first place. So, if she wanted the Kommandant to be helped, she’d have to stand on her own for now. Did she really want to watch someone fall apart right in front of her eyes rather than take the chance that she was right, and that it was something she couldn’t face alone? Was she such a coward?

Hilda stood, annoyed with herself. If the Kommandant needed more help than she could provide, there was all the more reason for her to get involved now. She would have to stand alone until she had something solid for her backup to go on. And before she could know what had to be done, she needed to know what was happening behind that door. Determined now, she strode over to the office. _Of course,_ she thought as she put her hand on the doorknob, _it’s probably locked like yesterday—_

The knob turned easily in her hand. She grinned. At last!, she was getting somewhere. Carefully, she eased the door open—just enough to peak inside.

When her brain finally decided to believe her eyes, Hilda’s mouth dropped open. Her boss was kneeling in front of Adler, giving the General a hand job while he stared down at the floor. If he moved his head up at all, he’d be looking right at her, but Hilda was too busy trying to rein in her mounting hysterics to consider what might happen then. The corners of her mouth turned up in a disbelieving grin. Well, _this_ explained why the Kommandant wouldn’t want to go to the authorities!

Suddenly, General Burkhalter’s snide words to General Adler made sense. She wasn’t sure which was more stunning to her: what she was seeing or the fact that Burkhalter had known enough to say something to Adler but _hadn’t_ turned the Gestapo general in. Had Schultz known about this, too? Was _that_ why he’d warned her off—because he’d already known about what Adler and Klink were doing?

“Faster,” Adler directed, his voice breathy.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob as Klink complied without any visible enthusiasm. Why was he doing this? It was obvious to her he was terrified of the man—the way he looked whenever she told him the General wanted to see him was proof of that—; why would he pick _this_ man to be involved with? And prior to this moment, she wouldn’t have believed if someone had told her that Colonel Klink was a homosexual. The whole thing made no sense to her, and she wanted nothing but to shut the door and forget she’d ever seen this.

Hilda had been about to do one of these things when Adler groaned and ejaculate struck the side of the Kommandant’s face. Klink’s head jerked up in obvious surprise. His eyes widened as they met hers.

She quickly ducked behind the door, but it was too late: he’d already seen her. What now? What now? What would he do? Would he alert the General? She peeked again. Klink was looking back down, trembling as much as she was.

Adler pushed Klink’s hand off, panting. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He chuckled, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and dropping it on the floor. “Wipe off your face before you get something on your uniform.”

It seemed as though the Kommandant was keeping quiet for the moment. Carefully, she shut the door, the click sounding impossibly loud to her ears. Her hands were still shaking once she’d resettled at her desk. Well, now she’d done it, hadn’t she? What the heck did she do now!

She picked up her nail-file and took some deep breaths. Assuming her boss didn’t end up telling General Adler that she’d been peeking, she’d need to put on a good show for him when he came out. Recalling the way the man had acted towards Schultz this morning, she didn’t want to know what he might do to her to keep her quiet.

Hilda shook her head sharply. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. Calm, she had to be calm. No, she had to be _more_ than calm. Slowly, lazily, she started to file her nails. Bored. She was bored. She had nothing to think about except for wishing she had something more interesting to do than nail care.

Hilda repeated her mantra to herself until she felt relaxed again. It said something for the effectiveness of her method that, when she heard Adler step out of the office, she didn’t jump. She looked up, trying to seem as though she was glad of the distraction—as though she thought of the man as a possible savior from her boredom.

He nodded at her, smiling slightly. “Fraulein.”

“General,” she returned, proud of how pleasant she sounded. Watching him go with real pleasure, she tossed the nail file on the desktop. Now what? She couldn’t imagine the Colonel would be too pleased with her right now. On the other hand, he clearly hadn’t told General Adler what he’d seen: either he wasn’t that worried about keeping his perversion secret or he didn’t want to keep it secret enough to sic General Adler on her.

Either way, that left her with the problem of what she should do. Did she go to him, ask him why he was doing what he was doing with that snake of all people? Did she wait for him to come to her instead? If he didn’t, should she pretend she hadn’t seen what she’d seen? Should she let him let her do that?

Hilda didn’t know for certain what the relationship between her boss and General Adler was, but there was much more wrong with it than the simple fact both of them were men. The Colonel was coming apart at the seams—in as far as any sexual relationship between two men could be considered healthy, whatever this was clearly wasn’t.

The Kommandant’s personal life wasn’t any of her business unless she wanted to turn him in, but could she really watch him destroy himself without even _trying_ to help? 

She got to her feet. Maybe she couldn’t help him—maybe he wouldn’t let her help him—but she had to try. The alternative was to wait for her boss to have a breakdown, or worse! That was an alternative she couldn’t choose.

* * *

Klink realized what was dripping down his face now, but seeing those wide eyes staring back at him in the moment before the girl ducked behind the door was more distressing. This was it. It was over. He’d gone along with Adler, put himself through all this misery, found out things about himself he would have rather never known, all for nothing. So much for avoiding exposure!

He shook his head sharply. That didn’t matter. What mattered right now was making sure Adler didn’t wonder what had him so rattled. If the monster was willing to do _this_ to him, Klink didn’t want to think about what he might do to _her_. Quickly, he stared back down at the floor, trying to ignore the slime making its way down his cheek and onto his neck. He flinched as Adler groaned again and more of the same came to join it.

Adler was panting as he pushed Klink’s hand off of him. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He chuckled, and Klink heard the sound of cloth being pulled from a pocket. “Wipe off your face before you get something on your uniform.”

A handkerchief fell to the floor in front of him, and Klink picked it up, his hands shaking. As he cleaned up, his thoughts tumbled through his brain like windblown leaves. What did he do? What did he do! Well, the important thing was not to panic. If he panicked now, Adler would want to know why. As much as Klink didn’t want to be arrested or exposed, he wanted to know what Adler would do to keep his secretary quiet less. Maybe, if Hilda would be willing to give him some time, he could still implement his plan. If he had to be exposed and have his family shamed in any event, he’d rather be dead when it happened, and he’d rather take Adler with him.

“Finished?”

Klink stared up at Adler, who was now dressed again. “Yes, I’m finished.” Oh, how true that statement was in all it’s senses!

A smile. “Good.” Abruptly, Adler grabbed Klink’s elbows and pulled him up. The kiss was deep, and Klink closed his eyes in resignation. At least this would probably be one of the last times he would have to suffer through this.

Breaking the kiss, Adler moved his hands to Klink’s waist. “You’ll still have to be punished, of course.”

Not much of a surprise, but considering the situation as it now stood, it wasn’t going to be something he’d have to worry about. He couldn’t decide how to feel about that—he didn’t enjoy being hit, but he was sure being arrested and publicly shamed would be much worse.

Adler’s disappointed sigh brought Klink’s attention back to the present. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being punished, Colonel—you give me reason to do it so often.” He shook his head before his expression suddenly brightened. “But there _is_ something else I’d like to discuss with you. Do you remember what I said to you last night before I left?”

Klink frowned at the non-sequitur. His memory of the night before was fuzzy. While not quite as bad as his memory right after his binge, there were definitely some details missing. However, he thought he could remember Adler mentioning something about doing him a favor, and he could remember thinking a favor from Adler wasn’t bound to be something he’d like. “No, General.”

“I’m not surprised,” Adler said in his version of kindly. “You were not quite with me then.” He let his hands fall from Klink’s body as he took a step back. “What I said then was that I had an idea to lessen the strain on you a little. If I want to keep you, I have to take care not to wear you out so quickly.” He grinned, showing too many teeth. “And I _do_ want to keep you.

“Since you find it so hard to relax, in order to do that, I have two choices: fill you full of drugs every time I want to use you or find a replacement to use in your place.” He spread his hands. “Considering how poorly the Eukadol worked for you, there is really only one option left.”

It wasn’t too difficult to understand what Adler was suggesting; Klink just couldn’t believe he was actually suggesting it. “What do you want, General?” he asked, hoping he was somehow managing to misunderstand simple words. If Adler was suggesting what he was so obviously suggesting—

Adler laughed. “I know you’re not this stupid, Colonel. I need someone to use in your place while you recover.” He pretended to think. “Perhaps one of your prisoners—I’ve read reports about Colonel Hogan, and he seems like a fascinating individual.”

For a moment, Klink felt more insulted than anything. It wasn’t truly surprising the beast would want one of his prisoners—he’d already tried to kiss one!—but the fact that swine actually thought for a _second_ he would just hand one of them over? What sort of man did Adler take him for!

Adler raised an eyebrow before shrugging, his face placid. “All right, not him then. Then choose me a different one. Perhaps that prisoner who escaped—”

Well, the answer to _that_ question was obvious, wasn’t it? Disgust and shame roiled together into something stronger than his ever-present terror, and he had to force himself to stay absolutely still and silent to keep himself from doing something Adler would make him regret. His hand clenched into a fist around the handkerchief he was still holding. “That is out of the question,” he said tightly, struggling to control his temper, to make sure those were the only words he said.

“No,” Klink interrupted, his fist clenched so tightly now that his fingers hurt.

The General’s pleasant smile froze before his expression became unreadable. “No?” he asked, his tone dangerously bland. “Would you care to explain what you mean by that?”

Fear bubbled up through Klink’s anger, but he refused to give into it this time. While he’d never been the best soldier, he had never shirked his duty when it was important. This was important: he’d failed those men once already—he wasn’t going to betray them as well. “I won’t allow you to touch _any_ of my prisoners.” When Adler merely continued to stare, Klink’s mouth dried up. “It—it’s against the Geneva Convention, I’m sure.” 

Slowly, Adler shook his head, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth. “I admire your dedication to your duty, Colonel,” he said as he stepped forward, closing the space between them, “but, perhaps, I haven’t made myself clear.”

Even though he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable, Klink backed away from Adler’s slow advance until his back hit the wall. Terror was rapidly overcoming his anger, and he wondered how the General would repay his defiance this time. He shied away from Adler’s hands as they came to rest on his shoulders, but he was in no position to escape them. “General ...”

“Perhaps,” Adler continued as if Klink hadn’t spoken, “you’ve forgotten your place once again.”

“I, I-I haven’t forgotten, but I...” Why was he bothering to fight this when the odds were very good that all of this would be moot? What was the point in doing this to himself?

He shook his head sharply. What was the point? The point was Adler was finally demanding something of him that he couldn’t allow the swine to take. Whatever depths he had sunk to by agreeing to be Adler’s plaything, he wasn’t going to let himself sink any lower. He wasn’t much of a man these days, but he was a better man than _this_! “I never agreed to be your, your procurer.” 

Adler’s hands slid up to gently encircle Klink’s throat. “I made some arrangements while I was out and about today,” he said conversationally, “so, tonight, you can choose a prisoner for me to take away for interrogation.” He smiled. “We won’t need a guard because you will be with us—if you behave, I might even let you stay and watch.”

As though that was something Klink ever wanted to see! “You can’t,” he protested, latching onto the last ditch effort of appealing to this monster’s sense of self-preservation. “You’ll be caught—do you think he’ll keep quiet?”

Klink was very aware of Adler’s thumbs digging ever so gently into his Adam’s apple. “You think anyone will believe him?” He chuckled. “If you’re worried, I could always kill him once I’m done. For trying to escape.” 

The calm, off-handed way he said this chilled Klink to the core. Looking into Adler’s untroubled face, he had no doubts Adler _would_ murder a defenseless man in cold blood just to save himself some trouble. “No,” he said, somewhat desperately. “No, you can’t do that.”

Adler regarded him coolly, as though Klink were an interesting specimen under a microscope. “What difference does it make to you? They’re vermin; they’re enemies of the Reich.”

It seemed laughable to Klink that a deranged pervert like Adler would talk about enemies of the Reich when he was so clearly one himself. At least, it would have seemed laughable if the degenerate in question didn’t have his hands wrapped around his throat. “I—” Klink cut himself off so he could pick his words very carefully. “They’re my responsibility, General Adler,” he said as firmly as he could manage.

Tilting his head, Adler seemed to consider this. Then he nodded. “Very well, Colonel—I shall find a gentler means of keeping him quiet,” his eyes suddenly bored into Klink’s, “that is, if you’ve finally agreed to do as I say.”

Klink shrunk back from that gaze as much as he was able. He couldn’t agree to this. Even if it would all become moot very shortly, he wasn’t going to soil his already tarnished soul by saying he would do something as horrible as this. Besides, there was always the slim chance Fraulein Hilda _wouldn’t_ turn him in—what would he do if he’d agreed to this hideous demand then? He shook his head and summoned up his remaining courage. “I won’t let you touch them.”

The darkening of the other man’s expression was enough warning for Klink to raise his hands to his throat, but Adler had already started to squeeze before Klink could try to pry the fingers away. “Looks like you need another lesson.”

Then Klink couldn’t breathe. Desperately, he scrambled the find purchase beneath Adler’s fingers and found none. Adler’s hands were a crushing vise—unforgiving and strong. Klink’s heart pounded in his ears; his lungs burned for new air. If Adler didn’t stop this soon—!

In his panic, Klink thrust himself backward to break away from Adler’s grip, forgetting for a vital instant how close he already was to the wall. His head cracked against the paneling, and his hands fell to his sides as stars overtook his vision.

Suddenly, Adler released him. Immediately, he fell to the floor, gasping.

Adler crouched down and grabbed the front of Klink’s uniform, bringing Klink’s face close to his own. “Tonight, we will discuss this again, and I suggest you think _very_ carefully before you make your choice, Klink.” His voice was quiet and all the more frightening for it. “I can make you regret your defiance in ways that won’t affect your usefulness to me. Remember that.” He dropped the fabric in his hand and stood up. “Until tonight, Colonel.”

Klink stared at the floor, his vision swimming as he took in ragged breaths. He waited until he heard the office door shut before bringing a hand up to his tender throat. That had been too close for comfort—far too close. For a moment, he’d thought...!

It didn’t matter now. He was finished. Not only had he been blackmailed into doing things that sickened him, and not only had he turned out to be a pervert who enjoyed being hurt by someone he despised, and not only had he been caught in _flagrante delicto_ with General Adler, now, if Fraulein Hilda _didn’t_ turn him in, he would have to deal with the fact that Adler was finally demanding something Klink couldn’t allow himself to agree to. Unfortunately, he knew that he couldn’t deny Adler for too long: either he’d cave in like the coward he was, or Adler would murder him. It was as simple as that.

And, if Fraulein Hilda _did_ decide to turn him in, he could look forward to being exposed for the pervert he was—if he wasn’t lucky enough to get the chance to kill himself first.

A cracked chuckle burst from him. At least now, finally, it really couldn’t get any worse. After a few moments, Klink wiped his cheeks and took a deep breath. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get some control over himself. Hilda wasn’t going to take too long to make up her mind about what she was going to do about what she’d seen. She might have done something already. He needed to know how much time he had left before someone would come to take him away.

With an effort, Klink dragged himself to his feet. He swayed a little as he made his way to the door, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He had to find out what Hilda had done.

Or what she was planning to do.


	36. Mother of Intervention

When Hilda opened the office door, she found herself face to face with the Kommandant, who backed up a step in surprise. Then he seemed to be attempting to smile but the expression was too full of resignation and trepidation to be anything of the sort. “Fraulein Hilda,” he said softly, his voice sounding a little raspy, “when are you planning to report me?”

Not expecting such a blunt opening for the subject, Hilda was caught unprepared. “Sir?”

The Colonel’s expression didn’t change. “I know you saw General Adler and I—” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think I can convince you to lie to the authorities for me, but if you could give me some time to,” he waved his hand, obviously searching for the right word, “to prepare myself, I would be grateful.”

Well, this was simple enough. “I’m not going to report you, Kommandant.”

Now he looked surprised but not quite relieved. “You’re not?”

Hilda smiled, deciding not to take his implied lack of faith in her loyalty as an insult. “I’m not in the habit of reporting people to the authorities when they aren’t hurting anyone.” It would be a lie to say she was comfortable with the fact that her boss had turned out to be a pervert, but the only person who seemed to be getting hurt here was him. Of course, if a certain Gestapo general happened to end up in prison, she wouldn’t cry about it. “I wouldn’t mind reporting General Adler.”

The Kommandant paled. “You can’t—”

“I won’t,” Hilda reassured him patiently, “but I can want to, can’t I?” Since the subject was now being discussed, she figured she might as well cut to the chase, as Hogan would say. “Sir, I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but … I don’t think what you and General Adler are doing is right.”

His answering laughter was harsh. “That’s putting it mildly, Fraulein.”

It seemed odd to her that, as a practicing homosexual, he would agree with her so readily. Unless he only meant he and Adler specifically weren’t right together. “Then pardon me for asking, but why are you still,” what word did she use?, “seeing him, then?”

The Colonel blinked stupidly at her before a startled guffaw escaped him. “You think we’re, we’re _dating_!” He shook his head. “It’s not like that.”

Hilda wondered at the defensiveness of his tone. She’d seen them together—what was the point in denying it? She bit her lip. Since she’d decided not to bring the authorities in on this, the Kommandant’s love life was really none of her business. Did she have the right to force the issue? She was only his secretary, after all.

On the other hand, Hilda didn’t know how much longer the man could continue on this way, and she simply couldn’t understand why he was doing what he was doing when he actually _acknowledged_ what he and General Adler were doing wasn’t right!

“Then what is it like?” she asked, deciding the most direct question would bring her the most direct answer.

Klink looked almost amused. “I’ve never had so many people interested in my private life before!” Then he shook his head and turned away from her to go sit in the chair in front of his desk. When he spoke, his voice was caustic. “You want to know what it’s like, Fraulein? He makes demands, and I give in. And I give in. And I give in.” Somewhere during this speech, he’d gone from caustic to merely bitter. He slumped forward in the chair, shaking his head. “ _That_ is what it’s like.”

Hilda was beginning to think she understood what was going on now. While it was nothing she approved of, at least it was starting to make more sense. Slowly, cautiously, she made her way over to where the Kommandant was seated. She reached out to put her hand on his back but found herself hesitating, and not only because of the way he had reacted to her touch the other day.

He was unclean. A pervert. Defective. He was—

—a clearly sad, lonely man who needed a sympathetic hand to let him know that he wasn’t as alone as he so obviously believed he was. Resolved, she set her hand down. He tensed but said nothing. “I know it’s none of my business what you do or whom you do it with, but I really think you should consider ending this, this _fling_ with General Adler.”

She could feel the Colonel shake with quiet, raspy laughter. Why was this so funny to him? In a way, it was nice—she hadn’t seen the man enjoy himself so much in days—, but she worried she wasn’t getting through to him. That he wasn’t taking her seriously. Once he stopped laughing, Klink smiled up at her wanly. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Fraulein.”

Her new vantage point allowed Hilda to see the faint bruise on the Kommandant’s cheek as well as the vivid red marks around his throat. There was little question in her mind as to what—as to who—had made them. Her own throat closed up a bit as tears ached in her eyes. What the Colonel was doing was wrong, but this ... this was worse. No one deserved to be treated this way by a lover. If Klink was determined to be a homosexual—an unwise choice all on its own—, he _had_ to be able to do better than that snake!

“I realize that it’s probably hard to find,” she hesitated, searching for the right words, trying to hide her discomfort over the concept, “people like yourself,” the flinch told her she had failed on one count or both. She pressed on. “But you need to break this off with General Adler. What he’s doing to you isn’t right.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Klink snapped. His shoulders sagged, and he hid his face in his hands. “I know I shouldn’t let him do what he does, but I … I don’t know what else I can do. And now,” she could feel him tremble, “now, he wants something I can’t let myself agree to. I don’t know...” He heaved a shaky sigh and took out his monocle. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this.”

As Hilda watched the Colonel wipe his eyes, she wished she were closer to the man. What he needed now was a friend—not a secretary, not an employee. But for the moment, it seemed like she was all he had, and her conscience wouldn’t allow her to leave him in this state. “Sir, maybe it would be better to be alone than with Adler.”

He shook his head again, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. “It’s not that simple,” he said tiredly. “You don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“I don’t understand everything,” she admitted as she came to stand in front of the Kommandant, letting her hand slide off his back. She bent down to look him in the face. He wasn’t looking at her. “But I’ve seen the way you’ve been the last few days—tell me you can survive like that.” When he didn’t acknowledge her words, she put her hands on his shoulders. “Please, look at me.”

After a long moment, Klink did so. His eyes were still wet, but what caught Hilda’s attention was how empty they looked. How broken he seemed. She barely recognized the obnoxious but harmless man she’d known. That man hadn’t been her friend as such, but she had liked him—she’d had worse bosses in her time. She didn’t want to see him disappear. Suddenly, she realized how important it was to make him understand. If she couldn’t … he’d be gone.

“Whatever this thing is that you and General Adler have,” she began softly, “you need to end it as soon as you can. You need to end this before you lose yourself completely.” She heard the fear in her voice, and she didn’t care. Maybe it would help him see how serious this was. “Whatever it is that keeping that snake around gives you, it isn’t worth that.”

For a time, Klink stared through her, thoughtfulness overtaking the emptiness in his eyes. “I’ve already lost myself, Fraulein,” he said at last, returning his gaze downwards, “but you’re right: I need to end this.” He replaced his monocle. “I suppose I’ve always known what I’d have to do, but I kept convincing myself that I wouldn’t have to, that I could wait.” He let out a long breath. “The stakes are too high now to keep deluding myself.”

Hilda stood, surprised. She’d been expecting him to be a little harder to convince considering how he’d been during the rest of this conversation. “You mean that, sir?”

He nodded, subdued—as though, finally, all hope had been lost. It struck her as a rather strange reaction. “It will be difficult for me, but,” he sat up and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket, “it will be better this way.”

While he looked beaten, he sounded sincere. She felt herself smile. If he _were_ just saying this, he was a better actor than she would have believed. Carefully, she ignored the fact he’d managed to hide he was a pervert for a very long time very well. “You won’t regret it, Kommandant.”

He froze before chuckling softly, almost sadly. “No, I don’t suppose I will.”

There was something about the way he said this which made her feel uneasy, but she knew she couldn’t do much more than she had already. The rest was up to him now: either he took her advice or he didn’t. If he did, great. If he didn’t … well, if he didn’t, she would have to try something else.

Right now, though, she needed time to think everything over. Hilda was frankly uncomfortable with the idea that her boss was a practicing pervert, but she was finding it hard to feel overly disgusted with the man himself. It wasn’t that she _wanted_ to be disgusted with him; she just felt as though she _ought_ to be. What she needed was an opportunity to decide what she really thought about all this.

“Fraulein?”

Returning to the present, she refocused her attention on the Kommandant. “Yes, sir?”

He gestured to his desk. “Could you get me my notepad and a pen, please?” Once she had done so, he hurriedly scribbled something on the top sheet before tearing it from the pad and holding it out for her to take. “Give this to the guard at the motor pool and have him drive you home.” Before she could protest, he held up his other hand. “You’ve finished the reports I’d asked you to finish yesterday, haven’t you?” At her nod, he smiled kindly. “It couldn’t have been pleasant for you to see what you saw. Since you’ve finished my work and yours, there’s no need for you to stay any longer today.”

Yes, Hilda thought she could use some time to think things over, but … something about this didn’t feel right. “What if you need me—”

“I think I can take care of myself for a few hours, Fraulein.” The Colonel stood, tossing the notepad into the chair. Then, his hand shaking ever so slightly, he took hold of her arm and propelled her gently towards the door. “Believe it or not,” he said with a smile in his voice, “I am a grown man.”

Now, back in the outer office, he held out the paper again.

She looked from his face to the paper and back again. He seemed calmer and more in control than he had been before. Maybe … maybe he really would be all right. “If you _do_ need me—”

He pushed the paper into her hand, his smile filled with gratitude. “Then I know how to find you.” For a second, he seemed almost wistful and sad, but the expression disappeared so quickly Hilda could not be positive that she’d seen it at all. “Now, go home. I think you could use some time off.”

That much, Hilda couldn’t argue with. “All right, Kommandant.”

As she headed down to the motor pool, there was a small part of her that wondered if she was doing the right thing by leaving him alone. She still didn’t trust that quiet ‘I don’t think I will’. However, as he’d said, he _was_ a grown man, and he had told her that he could take care of himself—to stay after that would have been to call him a liar. Anyway, she’d be coming back tomorrow.

But before she left, there was someone she needed to find. Someone who could be trusted to keep an eye on things while she was gone.


	37. Last Writes

Klink sat down behind Hilda’s desk, having found all the supplies he would need, and almost wished that his secretary hadn’t been so … Kind? Understanding? Loyal? Of course, the irony of it all was had she _not_ had so much apparent interest in his welfare, he would still be alive tomorrow. As it was... He chewed briefly on the end of the pen as he carefully considered what his message would be. It was a risk to write anything, but there were a few things that needed to be done, and he would not be around later to address them. 

Although the girl had grossly misunderstood the relationship between himself and Adler—by assuming they _had_ one—, she had understood the most important thing very well: the price of dealing with Adler had become too dear. His own dignity and health were his to trade in if he chose to do so, but as he’d told that monster in no uncertain terms, those prisoners were his responsibility. He would not leave them to Adler’s not at all tender mercies for two important reasons: the prisoners did not deserve Adler’s attentions, and he had no wish to become the sort of man who would leave them to that fate. 

Once he was satisfied with the note, he sealed it and some money inside an envelope. After writing Hilda’s name on the top side, he found a secure place inside her desk to hide it. He’d considered writing a letter to his family as well but had ultimately decided not to. What was he supposed to tell them? What could he possibly say? _Sorry, I’d meant to write sooner, but this will have to do because I’m ending my life?_ No, he couldn’t say that. There was really nothing _to_ say now. 

Which was just as well since his plan, such as it was, relied on the hope that the official verdict on things would be that he’d simply gone crazy. Writing a letter to his family, regardless of what was in it, would undermine that. Klink justified the note he’d hidden in Hilda’s desk, knowing it, unlike a message sent to his family, was doubtful to be intercepted. Besides, the girl was bound to think his decision was her fault from the timing alone, and she didn’t deserve that sort of guilt for trying to be kind to him. 

Walking into his office, he ignored the faint odor of vomit and focused on his objective. He sat down behind his desk with a sudden sense of finality. A strange sort of melancholy mixed with nostalgia. This would be the last time he sat behind this desk. This would be the last time he _sat_. In less than an hour, he’d be _dead_. 

It was a difficult line of thought to truly grasp. He wasn’t so old that he’d started preparing to die!

Klink thought about the people who would mourn him. It didn’t take more than a few seconds: the list of people to whom his death would be important was very short. The saddest part was he had no one but himself to blame for that fact. He hadn’t quite realized until this moment how much he’d isolated himself from just about everyone during the last ten years. 

It had happened so gradually, he’d barely noticed it happening at all. At first he’d been too busy. Then the years had passed by so quickly, and before he knew it, so much time had passed it had seemed impossible and inappropriate to try and pick up where he’d left off. 

But that hadn’t been so bad because having close friends was dangerous. Having a close friend was to risk opening up to the wrong person, and remembering the fate of Hans Kronen and how close he’d come to sharing it, even just _knowing_ the wrong person was a risk, too. 

And when was the last time he’d seen the men he used to be closest to? Besides poor Hansie? He couldn’t remember. And there was nothing that could be done now. He didn’t know how to contact them, and even if he did, well, it was all rather pointless, wasn’t it? He was going to die. Besides, if they’d been at all interested in picking up where _they’d_ left off, they could have done it by now, couldn’t they? Yes, it was neater this way—no loose ends. 

Of course, the worst part of all this was realizing Colonel Hogan had become the closest thing he’d had to a friend here at Stalag 13, and he was the enemy! The fact he’d been willing to consider the _flimsy_ relationship he and the American had, which was solely based on misplaced comradery on Klink’s end, a friendship was so pathetic he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. How could he have forgotten so thoroughly what real friendship was that he’d be willing to pretend someone he couldn’t trust an inch was a friend? 

And to think, Klink had thought his life had been going so well! Or, if not well, at least not _too_ badly. He started to laugh. He’d given Adler leave to violate him for _this_? So he could go on sending paperwork to Berlin? So he could spend his evenings alone, drinking and listening to Wagner, and being just drunk enough to believe things didn’t get much better than that? To continue a life where his closest friend wasn’t even a _friendly_ acquaintance? 

His laughter caught in his throat. To think that he’d actually thought he’d been worth something _before_ he’d let Adler use him. Adler hadn’t made him nothing: he’d been nothing for years. He just hadn’t realized until now, when he was about to lose everything, how little he actually had to lose. 

Klink wiped his eyes. Even accepting that, it would be a lie to say he was honestly looking forward to his own death. He was afraid. Afraid his plan wouldn’t succeed. Afraid it would. His hand curled around the bottom drawer’s handle. Well, whatever little he was actually losing by doing this, his death would have value. Instead of just waiting to be murdered, he was going to do something positive. Perhaps ridding the world of that swine could even be considered noble. 

Noble or not, at the very least, it would finally end. Ever since this whole thing with Adler had begun, all Klink had wanted was for it to be over, and it soon would be. The sooner the better—for so many reasons! 

Unfortunately, his plan ran into a substantial snag as soon as he tried to put it into action. The drawer wouldn’t open. A second tug confirmed what he’d already known with the first: the drawer was locked, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he’d put the key. He also couldn’t remember locking the drawer or even putting the Luger away in the first place, but seeing as the drawer was locked, he must have been the one to do it. _Ipso facto._

Considering how drunk he’d been at the time, he’d been very thorough. Not only had he made sure to put the pistol in a safe place, he’d locked the drawer afterwards as well! Now, what were the odds he’d also put the key somewhere he’d be able to find it? 

A quick glance followed by a more involved search through the remaining drawers put the odds somewhere around zero. He thumped the desktop in annoyance and wondered what he should do. He needed a weapon. Preferably his own, if for no other reason than to avoid questions. He also needed to get this over with before he had a chance to think of some reason not to do what he had to. 

Then a possible solution came to him. There were many ways to get to Rome, and there were many ways to open a locked drawer. All he needed was a prybar, and he’d be able to do it fairly easily. After all, it didn’t matter how his desk looked at the end as long as he could get to the pistol inside. The mess hall or the motor pool ought to have something he could use. 

And if someone asked questions, he wasn’t obligated to answer them: he outranked everyone here (except for General Adler, of course), and all he wanted was a prybar—they’d have no reason to refuse him. Let them find his request strange! It wouldn’t matter in less than an hour. 

Remembering how cold it had been earlier, Klink stopped long enough to get his coat before heading out into the camp. The guards who saw him offered salutes, and while there were not too many prisoners milling about, the few who were didn’t seem to find his presence worth more than a split second of attention. He did his best to ignore the paranoid voice assuring him they paid closer attention once he wasn’t looking at them. 

Eventually, unmolested and in one piece, he arrived at the mess hall. The smell of food simultaneously reminded him he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days as well as _why_ he hadn’t been able to. It would be best if he could get what he’d come here to do over with sooner rather than later. 

Quickly, he made his way to the back of the mess where the food shipments came in, hoping here he’d be able to get what he needed. It took less than a minute to find a corporal who was busy prying open a crate with a prybar. Klink stood there for what seemed like a long time as he worked himself up to interrupt the young man. He was that man’s superior. He shouldn’t be afraid to ask for the prybar. He shouldn’t be afraid to get the man’s attention and to have it focused on him. 

“Excuse me.” 

There was no response from the Corporal, and unsurprisingly so since Klink only barely heard himself speak. He tried again. “Corporal.” 

Still nothing. 

Not certain who he was more frustrated with, the young man for not hearing him or himself for being unable to speak at a normal volume, Klink closed his eyes and took a deep breath for another attempt. “Corporal!” 

The Corporal started, the prybar slipping out of his hands as he lost his concentration. It hit the cement floor with a loud clang after it bounced off the corporal’s boot. A loud curse came from the man and he whirled around, an angry look on his face. “What—?” Then he froze as he realized who he was yelling at. “Kommandant,” he said with a sharp salute. 

Klink waited for his heart to return to his chest before returning the salute. It took longer than he would have liked. “Corporal Jung, I need your prybar.” 

Jung frowned as he picked the bar off the floor. “What do you need it for, sir?” Seeming to sense that he was over-stepping his bounds with the questioning, he added, “I mean, if there’s a job or something, I could do it for you, Kommandant.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Klink said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “It’s only a little thing—I can do it myself.” He held out his hand, proud it wasn’t shaking, and ordered: “Now, give me your prybar.” 

The Corporal was still frowning, but he handed the prybar over, if a bit grudgingly. “Here, sir.” 

Klink took it from him, waiting to pull his hand back until the other man’s hand had returned to his side. “I will return it when I’m finished.” Deciding he had nothing left to do here, he waited for the young man to salute him, returned the salute, and left the mess feeling elated. Finally, something was going right. He’d been able to walk around camp without any problems; he’d gotten a prybar with very little fuss; and soon, his nightmare was going to end. 

The length of rapidly cooling iron gave him a sense of power. He was holding his future in his hand and it felt good (if growing colder by the second). He was going to bring the story to a close in his own way—he wasn’t going to wait for someone else to decide for him. He was going to be the master of his own destiny, and nothing would stop him now.

* * *

Nothing, that is, except for fine German craftsmanship. Klink stared down at the mangled bottom drawer in disbelief. Was he doing this incorrectly? Or was the lock just very strong? He wiped his forehead and considered the problem. He had to get the drawer open, and considering the current state of the lock, he’d still have to do it with the prybar even if he, by some miracle, suddenly came across the key. 

There seemed to be only one way to go at this point. With a sigh, he wedged the tip of the prybar into the space between the desk and the drawer again. He leaned down on the other end with all his weight. 

Tortured metal squealed and then twisted and then snapped. Giddy at his unexpected success, he tossed the prybar on the desktop, reached for the drawer’s handle, and pulled the drawer open.

But before he could claim his prize, a knock on the door made him freeze. He couldn’t get out any words before the door opened, and his latest visitor stepped inside. 


	38. Hammelburg Hold 'Em

Before General Burkhalter arrived, Schultz had spent most of his time around the office building, to be on hand in case General Adler returned and wanted to force the issue of seeing the Kommandant. Of course, he’d had breakfast first—a man had to eat!—but he hadn’t lingered. He’d told the Fraulein that he’d be there so he would be there. 

It turned out his presence would be unnecessary. About a half hour after he’d stationed himself in Colonel Klink’s office, Fraulein Hilda came and told him that Adler had left camp on his own accord. While Schultz had doubted they’d all be so lucky as to have Adler leave for good so soon, it had been a relief to see the back of the man for a while. Seeing no purpose in staying put for the time being, Schultz had returned to his regular duties until General Burkhalter’s arrival. 

After he’d been told to go find something else to do by the Luftwaffe General, Schultz went on a brief tour around the camp to check on his guards—make sure every man was where he was supposed to be and doing what he was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, the men knew their jobs, so the inspection was not enough to distract himself from his increasingly disturbing thoughts. 

Those words he’d heard the Kommandant mumble in his sleep—they were proof of nothing more alarming than the Big Shot had had a bad dream. If it weren’t for Hilda’s delusions and his own, apparently, dirty mind, he wouldn’t even be thinking about them. Perhaps he’d find them strange, to be sure, but nothing he’d feel very concerned about—General Adler would give anyone nightmares! If Adler was even the general Klink had been referring to. 

Even if Adler _had_ been the general Klink had mentioned, and even if Schultz’s suspicion was right, well, what was _he_ supposed to do about any of it? Getting involved with this was the last thing he wanted to do: as long as he remained ignorant of whatever was really going on, he wouldn’t be able to get anyone into trouble. He didn’t know anything, for certain, and that was how he wanted it to stay. 

It was much safer that way for everyone.

* * *

In the end, Schultz had found his way to Barracks 2, finding the warmth and the rowdy atmosphere welcome after being outside in the cold with his thoughts. He hadn’t had much money left after the disastrous game he’d played there the other day, but he’d been willing to trade what he had left for the distraction and the company the game they offered would provide him. Maybe he’d even be able to sample whatever the clever Frenchman was cooking on the stove. 

This strategy had paid dividends. He’d actually won some of the money he’d lost back. And, grinning down at his current collection of royalty, if he kept doing as well, the She-Harpie he’d married would have no reason to squawk at him. Well, she wouldn’t be able to complain about the size of his pay check, anyway. 

Still, in order to keep winning, he’d have to wipe the grin off his face and focus. If he could just hold it together for a few more minutes... 

Schultz heard the Barracks’ door open, but he didn’t pay it any mind until he heard an unexpected voice. 

“Sergeant Schultz? Is he here?” 

The sound of Fraulein Hilda’s worried voice sent his stomach into his shoes. If Hilda had come _here_ alone to find him, she must want to speak to him very badly. And whatever it was she wanted to discuss must be important. It didn’t take much cleverness to connect the dots of what this was probably about. For a moment, he couldn’t decide if he was more worried about getting confirmation of his fears or if he was more annoyed that she couldn’t have come five minutes later. “I’m here, Fraulein.” 

Her smile was brilliant and relieved as she entered the Barracks. “Sergeant, thank goodness!” The relief was short-lived and was quickly replaced by worry. “I need to speak with you.” 

‘Alone’ went unsaid but clearly implied. “Certainly.” Schultz looked to the prisoners who were grinning at him and tried not to sound too desperate—the pot wasn’t small, and he needed the money. “It will only take a minute.” 

Newkirk waved his hand magnanimously. “Take your time—we don’t have anywhere to go.” He winked at the other men who laughed like jackals. “We’ll find something to do while you’re gone.” 

Nodding his thanks, Schultz slung his rifle over his shoulder and almost set his cards on the table before thinking better of it—he wouldn’t put it passed those jokers to do something to the cards while he was gone. Hand in hand, he followed Hilda out of the Barracks, ignoring the chuckles which followed them. Once they were out in the chilly air, he asked her what this was all about. 

Hilda hesitated. “You wouldn’t want to get,” she formed a circle with her fingers and put it over her eye for a moment, “in trouble, would you?” 

He didn’t like how this conversation was going already! Schultz shook his head. “I wouldn’t _try_ , Fraulein.” But maybe he wouldn’t have to try—maybe he’d do it because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut or because he was afraid. There were reasons he didn’t want to know things! 

She bit her lip and stepped so close that if she came any closer they’d touch. “You were right,” she said quietly, evidently deciding to trust him. “He _does_ have a reason for not … getting _others_ involved.” 

There was no need to ask who ‘he’ was or who the ‘others’ were. Oh, this was _wunderbar_! “What happened?” 

Hilda shook her head. “Not here.” Then her brow furrowed for a moment before her expression brightened. She leaned in closer, and Schultz didn’t have long to enjoy the closeness before her single, whispered word snapped him back to reality. 

“What?” 

She stepped back. “I’m not going to say it again,” she said seriously. 

And she really didn’t have to; Schultz _had_ heard her—he only _wished_ he hadn’t. “How do you know?” 

“I saw.” She looked a little green as she shook her head. “I don’t understand why he picked—” she cut herself off. “The man is a snake.” 

‘Why’ was, unfortunately, now all too clear to Schultz, as much as he wished it wasn’t. However, there was no need to worry the girl. There was no need to make her want to try something rash. It was far better for her to believe the Kommandant was just a homosexual with extremely poor taste in men. The clues he’d been given told him the truth was much more horrible than that. 

And of course, there was nothing that could be done. At least, nothing through official channels. Even taking into account the attack on Sergeant Jackson, Colonel Klink would undoubtedly receive some of the blame for cooperating with General Adler—he must be cooperating or else he’d have gone to the authorities himself. Discharge would be for certain. And that was being optimistic. 

“Sergeant?” 

Schultz blinked and realized he hadn’t heard anything she’d said. “What is it?” 

Hilda bit her lip. “Could you … could you go see him?” At his surprised look, she smiled weakly. “I think he really needs a friend right now, but you’ll have to do.” She looked away. “I need to go... I—I have a lot to think about.” 

Schultz watched her walk away, feeling like he had a lot to think about, too. He reentered the barracks, forcing himself to smile at the jibes from the prisoners, and sat back down in his chair. With an effort, he managed to put the disturbing confirmation Hilda had provided him out of his mind until he’d won the hand. But as he collected the pot, he decided he should probably see to the Kommandant. Hilda had seemed to think it important and maybe it would be best to quit while he was ahead. For once. 

“You in for the next hand?” Newkirk asked brightly. “You should give us a chance to win your money back.” 

Schultz shook his head. “I must return to my post.” He stood and had started for the door when he realized he was missing something. His face went hot as he retrieved his rifle from the back of the chair. He needed to stop doing that! The rifle wasn’t loaded today, but it still wouldn’t look good for him if someone caught him leaving it laying around! 

He could hear laughter as the barracks door shut behind him, but it didn’t bother him too much. They were good boys, all told. If only they could be a little less … dangerous? He wasn’t entirely certain what they were up to, however he _was_ entirely certain he didn’t want to know either. 

Of course, he also didn’t want to get involved in the trouble the Big Shot was having, but that decision seemed out of his hands. He’d told Hilda that he would do something if he had something to go on—she’d given him more than enough. He supposed the least he could do was look in on the Kommandant and see how he was doing. 

Walking into the office building, it struck him how empty it was. Even if Fraulein Hilda were at her desk (where had she gone?), there should still be a guard here. He’d have to make sure to post one later. Knocking on the door gave him no response from within, so he opened it and stepped inside. 

The Kommandant was standing behind his desk with a red face, sweaty forehead, and a nervous expression. “What is it? Is something happening?” 

Schultz saluted. “No, sir.” 

“Then what are you here for?” Klink asked, his impatience plain. “I’m a little busy right now.” 

_Busy with what?_ was the question Schultz thought but didn’t ask. Unfortunately, he was at a bit of a loss as to what he _should_ say now that he was here, and he could see his commander’s impatience growing with every second he spent thinking about it. “I … I thought I would make sure you were all right.” 

Klink blinked at him, startled. “I’m fine,” he said in a tone which suggested he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His smile was too sudden and too wide. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” 

It probably wasn’t a good idea to drag Hilda into this. Which was fine: he had plenty of first hand reasons to worry. He shrugged with forced carelessness. “You haven’t seemed like yourself lately, sir. You act as though,” he smiled slightly, “you’re afraid of me.” After a quick debate, he figured there was nothing to lose by laying out the newest bit of evidence he had, even if it wasn’t real proof of anything. “Today, you said something I … I didn’t like the sound of when I woke you up.” 

The Big Shot paled but said nothing. 

Schultz fidgeted under the worried, frightened gaze. Clearly, the Colonel wasn’t planning on commenting on his evidence. “Do you need help? Is, is there something I can do?” 

A disbelieving chuckle. Then a small, wan smile. “I’m surprised to hear you offer, but there’s really nothing you can do.” Klink shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now: it’ll all be over soon.” 

The first part, Schultz didn’t doubt for a moment. The second part... Somehow, this sounded less than reassuring. “Kommandant?” 

“Go back to your post, Sergeant.” The order was clipped. Then, more kindly, Klink added, “There’s really nothing to worry about.” 

While Schultz didn’t believe this, an order was an order. The Kommandant wasn’t all right—that much had been obvious for days, even before Schultz had had a guess as to the reason—but he was still the man in charge. If the Big Shot wanted to be left alone, then that’s what would happen. Which reminded him: “Do you want me to post a guard here, sir?” 

“No!” Some of the color returned to Klink’s face. “I mean, that’s not necessary right now.” 

Schultz half shook his head but offered no argument. He would post a guard on the outside of the building—not as good but better than nothing. However, seeing how upset the Kommandant was by the idea, he decided there was no point in informing him of it. Unless he went outside, he wouldn’t know about the guard. He’d been about to salute when he realized he still had his hand raised waiting for his first salute to be returned. “Permission to return to my post?” 

Klink nodded. “Dismissed,” he said, finally giving a salute of his own. 

Feeling as though the whole exchange had been a waste of time, Schultz left the office building, shaking his head. What was he supposed to do now? What _could_ he do? Did he pretend he didn’t know anything? He was usually pretty good at that! 

Officially, unless he wanted to make life more difficult for everyone, he had no choice _but_ to do that. Unofficially, however... Unbidden, the image of Colonel Hogan came to mind. Schultz shook his head. Even if he wanted to ask the American for help, there was no guarantee he _could_ help or that he’d even _want_ to. Besides, did Schultz want the responsibility of actually having certain knowledge about those prisoners? 

No. It was much better to see nothing, hear nothing, and know nothing as far as those boys were concerned. He only wished he had the same option when it came to the Big Shot. Since he didn’t, he would have to make do with pretending not to notice the Colonel’s fear and learning to ignore the newest voice in his head calling him a coward. 


	39. Falling In

Once Schultz was gone, Klink opened the mangled drawer and scooped up the pistol waiting there. His hand didn’t start to shake until after he’d slid out the magazine and confirmed there were still bullets inside. Slipping the magazine back into the pistol, he swallowed hard. This was it. Depending on how long it took to find General Adler, he’d be dead within a matter of minutes by his own hand. It was a terrifying yet exhilarating thought.

He walked out of his office and towards the door that would take him outside. His grip on the pistol tightened. It was time to end this in the only way Adler had left him. His other hand reached out for the doorknob—

The doorknob started turning before he could touch it. Klink stepped back and luckily so, for the door swung inward with great force. Before he had a chance to react, something—someone—ran into him, slamming him to the floor. The painful impact and the weight on his chest made it hard to breathe.

It became even harder to breathe when Hogan’s face swam into focus very close to his own. Disbelief warred with terror—Colonel Hogan had actually jumped him? It must have been an accident. Even so, he could feel himself rapidly losing the battle to keep his panic under control. “Get off me,” Klink rasped, finding the words hard to force out of his tightening throat. “Get off me now.”

“Can’t,” Hogan began, sounding a little winded from the fall. “I need you to—” The rest of the American’s statement was lost as Klink felt a hand encircle his wrist, pinning it to the floor.

Immediately, Klink’s fragile hold on his panic shattered. He started thrashing, trying to get himself free. Another hand forced Klink’s other wrist to the floor as the weight on top of him shifted to his hips. Someone was saying something, panicked and close to his ear, but Klink couldn’t understand it. He had more important things to concern himself with: he had to get free. He couldn’t just let this happen again! In desperation, he tried bucking the prisoner off. An incredible wave of pain stole his breath away.

Another shout, and suddenly, Klink’s legs were pinned to the floor as well. Two of them? Bile rose in his throat as he redoubled his efforts to get free, pain be damned. He’d spent so much time telling himself that no one would jump him like this, and now he was being jumped by _two_ men?

Exhaustion, agony, and a sense of futility finally stilled his struggles. He couldn’t fight them off. It was going to happen again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Whatever they wanted from him, they’d get. Even as Klink tried to tell himself that the Senior POW _wasn’t_ going to do what Adler had done, his paranoia countered with the fact that the man in question had him pinned to the floor. There wasn’t any answer he could give to that.

“Okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

While a faint whisper in the back of Klink’s mind assured him Hogan looked only worried and confused, it was all but drowned out by the screeching which insisted Hogan’s gaze was a hungry leer and that Hogan’s face being so close to his could only mean the American wanted—

Klink shrank back from him, his body tensing as it failed to pull in on itself. _Why are you afraid,_ some dark corner of his mind asked. _You imagined kissing him, didn’t you? You actually enjoyed it! So, isn’t this what you want?_

“No,” he whispered. “No.” Whatever his feelings were for the American, if there were any of that sort, he didn’t want to be forced like _this_. His body would probably enjoy it, traitor it was, but he didn’t think his mind could bear it. “Please, don’t,” he begged, pain and terror making his plea a desperate thing. “Not like this—I can’t, I can’t—!”

“Damn it, Klink, pull yourself together!” Hogan interrupted, the shout shocking Klink into silence like a slap . When he spoke again, he sounded less frantic but still far from calm. “Just look at me, will you?”

Reluctantly, Klink opened his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them.

Hogan’s face was still too close. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want you to hurt me either.” His words were slow and over-enunciated, as though he thought Klink had forgotten English. “Do you understand? I can’t let you go until you let go of the gun.”

Gun? Confusion forced back his panic enough for Klink to process Hogan’s demand. He could feel the weight of the Luger in his hand, the grip biting into his palm. In all the excitement, he’d completely forgotten he’d been holding the thing! For a moment, he considered using it to free himself but discarded the thought almost immediately: even if he could bring himself to shoot Hogan in cold blood, Hogan could probably rip the weapon from his hand before he fired the first shot. “Then you’ll let me go?” he asked, hating how much like a frightened child he sounded. Unfortunately, that was exactly how he felt and his control was in shreds. “You promise?”

Hogan nodded. “I promise. Now, please, let go of the gun.”

But what if Hogan was lying and—Klink shook his head. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to try shooting the American, so he really had no other choice but to take that chance. With an effort, he forced his fingers to relax enough to let the Luger fall to the floor.

Immediately, Hogan let go of his wrists and picked up the weapon. “Thank you, sir.”

Klink’s heart threatened to come out of his mouth for the brief moment that Hogan was still on him, holding the pistol. Then the weight came off, and he took a shuddering breath. He felt himself start to tremble although he wasn’t sure why—the worst was over now.

“Are you all right, Commandant?”

Klink didn’t think he’d ever heard that particular tone in Hogan’s voice before. The mixture of worry and helpless guilt reminded him of when he had been a little boy. When he’d accidentally smothered the puppy his father had bought for him, he’d sounded like that: Is he all right? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.

It didn’t suit Hogan at all.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

Blinking, Klink turned his head to look at Hogan, who was kneeling next to him. Hogan was reaching out his hand—“Don’t touch me,” Klink said quickly, still too close to his earlier panic to have Hogan’s hands on him again. “Just—just give me a moment.” He started moving his arms so he could attempt at least part of the journey upwards.

“Are you all right?” the American asked again, still sounding a bit shaken.

Now propped up on his elbows, Klink stared down at his chest. “No,” he said honestly. Thanks to his earlier struggles, his back and hips hurt quite a bit, and he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to sit up without help. If only he hadn’t panicked like that! But then, it wasn’t his fault that _someone_ had felt the need to barge in and knock him down, was it?

He glared at Hogan, who still hadn’t moved away. “What is the matter with you!” He found he preferred being indignant to being embarrassed. “What were you thinking, running in here like that? Did you _want_ to give me a heart attack!”

Hogan’s concern turned to defensiveness and sarcasm. “A little birdy told me that you were going to break into your desk.” He shook his head, his irritation plain. “I wasn’t sure how much time I had before you’d get your gun and off yourself. I didn’t want to be too late!”

Something about this explanation sounded wrong, and after a moment, Klink realized what it was. “How would you know I would need to break into my desk for that?” The pause was long enough to tell Klink that Hogan was busy thinking up a plausible answer. “ _You_ stole my key?” Well, that explained part of the puzzle, anyway. But not why Hogan had bothered to do it in the first place. “What was the point of that? Why not just steal the pistol if you were so concerned about it?”

Hogan shook his head again, as though the answer was obvious. “Because if you found _that_ missing, the first person you’d have thought of would’ve been me. You’d have searched the barracks and found Schultz’s birthday present.” The sudden look of sadness on his face was too sudden and too over-done to be real. “It would have _completely_ ruined the surprise.”

For a few seconds, Klink could only stare. Where did Hogan come _up_ with these things? “Hogan...” he trailed off, thinking better of the protest he’d been about to make about the ridiculousness of the statement. Any explanation he got was bound to be just as nonsensical as what he’d just heard.

“Should I get Wilson?” another voice asked, startling Klink with its unexpectedness. He’d forgotten Hogan hadn’t been the only one holding him down. The voice sounded familiar, too, and he craned his head to look at who had spoken. Sergeant Kinchloe, Hogan’s Negro attaché, stood by Klink’s feet, his expression hidden in shadow.

“No,” Klink answered before Hogan had a chance to. There was nothing the prisoners’ medic was going to be able to do for him. He shifted his weight, preparing to sit up so he might be able to try standing, but the sharp pain which came with the motion made him return to his original position. Damn it. He hated having to depend on those pills Adler had left him, hated that feeling of almost gratitude to the monster for letting him have them. Unfortunately, he saw no way around it: he had to be able to walk. “There are some pills on my bureau—get me one and some water to take it with.”

“They’re not cyanide, are they?” Hogan asked in a tone which suggested he wasn’t really joking.

“Of course not,” Klink said sourly; then, unable to stop himself in time, “They’re arsenic.” While the look of shock on Hogan’s face was gratifying, he realized it would become less so if Hogan decided not to chance getting his pill after all. He closed his eyes briefly and answered again. “They’re painkillers.”

Hogan didn’t seem reassured. “What kind?”

“I wouldn’t try to poison myself,” Klink snapped. When the other man seemed unimpressed by the statement, he tried to calm down. Getting angry now would not help him. “Eukadol.” He was sure the name would mean nothing to Hogan—why would it?

A puzzled frown. “Isn’t that what German soldiers get in the field?”

That was unexpected. “Yes.” He looked away from Hogan’s face, letting his eyes stray to the man’s boots. It was galling, feeling like he had to beg someone he was _supposed_ to be in charge of for a little help. Although, now that he thought about it, he supposed it was laughable to think he ever really had _any_ control over the Senior POW. “Please, for once, do what I say.”

A long pause. “All right, sir.” Hogan stood, brushing off his pants. “I’m leaving him to you, Kinch. Make sure he doesn’t wander off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Klink snorted. There wasn’t any chance of that happening at the moment. If he could manage to sit up, it would be an accomplishment. Clearly, if he wanted to get off the floor, he wouldn’t be able to do it alone. He looked up at Sergeant Kinchloe, meeting the other man’s eyes. The gaze was filled with pity.

Pity. Klink supposed he should resent it, because no one liked pity, but a part of him wished he deserved it. As for _why_ the prisoner was looking at him with pity … that wasn’t what Klink needed to be concerned about right now. “Sergeant?”

“Yes, Commandant?” Kinchloe came to squat beside him.

Klink stamped down his rekindling panic. If the prisoner had wanted to hurt him, he’d had ample opportunity to do so since his commander had left them alone. It still took him an agonizingly long time to force out his request. “Help me into a chair?”

The Sergeant’s surprise was plain. “You’re going to let me touch you, sir?”

Fear sliced through Klink as the wording brought to mind all the other things he’d let be done to him the last few days. He was shaking, and the Negro hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet. But what other choice was there? He knew Hogan would be coming back soon to force yet another interrogation on him, and the last thing he needed was for the Senior POW to see for himself how broken he was right now. It was a matter of scraping up what little dignity he had left in Hogan’s eyes after that … display earlier.

He nodded curtly.

Kinchloe took a moment to consider it. Then he stood with a nod and walked behind Klink, out of his line of sight. “I’m going to pull you up now, all right?”

Klink didn’t trust his voice so he nodded again. He could handle this. He could—

Strong but gentle hands slid under Klink’s armpits, lifting him upward. Klink’s breath caught in his throat, and he struggled not to pull away. Pulling away now would send him back to the floor and that was exactly where he didn’t want to be. Once he was upright, Kinchloe draped one of Klink’s arms around his neck and started walking him to his office.

The other man had to notice the trembling, but he said nothing.

Once Klink was seated behind his desk and Kinchloe was on the other side of it, he let out a shaky sigh. The trip had been unpleasant, he was sweating, and he ached but just seeing the world from the proper angle was helping his outlook immeasurably. He didn’t feel ready to deal with what Hogan was going to throw at him, but at least this way, he wouldn’t have to defend himself from the floor. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Kinchloe smiled, his teeth very white. “You’re welcome, sir.” For a second, Klink thought he was going to say something more before he shrugged and went to stand in front of the door to the outer office. He crossed his arms and stared down at the floor, contemplative. Klink hadn’t spoken much with him—which was proper as the only prisoner he was obligated to talk to on any kind of regular basis was the Senior POW—but from what he recalled of him, Sergeant Kinchloe was a quiet man. Thoughtful.

Klink was glad he didn’t know what the man was thinking now.

The door to his quarters opened and in stepped Colonel Hogan, bearing a glass of water and a closed fist. “Feeling better?” he asked brightly as he deposited the water and a pill on the desktop.

Ignoring the question, Klink picked up the Eukadol. Might as well get this over with. After swallowing down the pain killer and setting down the glass, he looked up in time to see Hogan sprawl into one of the chairs in front of the desk. It irked Klink a little to see Hogan looking so at ease when he could barely remember what ‘at ease’ felt like. “Comfortable?”

Hogan smiled. “Yes, thank you, Commandant.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back a bit. “You and I have a lot to talk about—like that promise you made me yesterday.”

Brow furrowing, Klink couldn’t decide which part of this was more confusing: Hogan’s sudden laid-back attitude after the suspicion of before, or the fact Klink had apparently promised him something. Yesterday.

His memories of yesterday were muddled and ran together like the colors of a drenched watercolor painting. He could remember, somewhat, the first few hands of that silly card game and the stinging answer to the question he’d asked Hogan, but after that, it all got much hazier. The last hour or so he’d spent in the American’s company was a complete blur. Which, in addition to being worrying, left him with no idea what Hogan was talking about. As usual.

“What promise?” he asked at last, giving up the idea of wringing the information from his alcohol-logged memories.

“You promised you’d tell me what was going on between you and General Adler once you were sober,” Hogan answered, only sounding a little putout from having to explain it. He sat up straighter and brought his hands to his knees. “Don’t you remember, sir?”

Klink didn’t laugh, but he felt an urge to. That he’d make such a promise—he didn’t care how drunk he’d been! “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Hogan, feeling fully justified in doing so. “If I did promise you that, you must have tricked me into it. I would _never_ have promised to discuss that subject with you.”

Hogan tilted his head, regarding Klink with a look which reminded the German too much of similar looks he’d received from Adler. Klink lowered his finger and made a tight fist at his side as he tried to get his hand to stop shaking. There was still no leer in Hogan’s version of the calculating gaze—of that, Klink was very nearly certain. However, that didn’t stop the calculation itself from being unnerving, and he would be glad when Hogan had had his fill of it.

Finally, Hogan nodded. “You’re right. I did trick you.”

“What?” The unexpected admission was enough to temporarily derail Klink’s paranoia. “You mean you actually admit it!”

Hogan’s answering shrug was devoid of shame. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, even though I should have known better than to think I’d be able to fool the Iron Eagle for long.” A faintly apologetic smile appeared on his face. “I probably shouldn’t have tried it at all though. I’d like you to be able to trust me.”

This time, Klink did laugh. “Hogan, you have a better chance of being elected Führer!” The burst of levity died away, and he shook his head. “This isn’t about trusting you. Sometimes, you must accept the facts, and the fact is that telling you about all this wouldn’t make a difference.” It was obvious Hogan still wasn’t believing it, and Klink felt a flash of resentment for feeling like he had to convince him.

Except, seeing as he was stuck in this chair until the Eukadol started working or until one of his staff came to see him, it seemed that convincing Hogan _was_ the only thing he could do for the time being.

Or was it? He felt a slight smile twist his mouth as an idea occurred to him. From his past dealings with Hogan, the Senior POW had proven himself to be the sort who took the safety of the men under him very seriously, and Klink had just the thing to divert the man’s attention away from himself. Surely, Hogan would be more interested in making sure one of his own was all right rather than keeping up this pretense of caring what happened to his warden! “However, I _do_ have something to tell you which you might find more important than wasting my time and yours here.”

“Oh?” Hogan made no effort to hide his skepticism “What might that be?”

The problem with this plan was that Klink had to choose his words carefully. If he gave Hogan the details, well, it wouldn’t take too much imagination to guess what the General was doing to him now. While he didn’t have much to lose at this point, he still didn’t want to see the disgust in Hogan’s eyes when the man put two and two together. Hogan would find out later, but later, Klink would be dead and then it wouldn’t matter then _what_ Hogan thought of him.

“I would have told you about this sooner, but I only learned of the … incident last night. Sergeant Schultz agreed to tell me on the condition that it be kept off the record, but I think you have a right to know.” Klink waited for a response before realizing that he hadn’t actually said anything for Hogan to respond to yet. Flushing, he continued. “Three days ago, General Adler attempted to … assault one of the prisoners—a Sergeant Jackson.”

That got a response. An unexpected one. Instead of looking concerned or maybe angry that this information had been kept from him, Hogan actually seemed rattled. It only lasted for a moment, but it was long enough for Klink to wonder why his words had affected the POW so badly.

“Attempted, you said. So, he didn’t actually...” Hogan trailed off, as though unsure of what he wanted to say.

Klink felt himself frown. Hogan was acting strangely, and he didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t often he saw the man look this worried, and he didn’t like it at all. For a vital moment, he forgot a reaction like this had been what was needed for his plan to succeed and reassured the American, “Sergeant Schultz intervened before … before your Sergeant was harmed.”

There was no denying the plain relief in Hogan’s expression. While he knew Colonel Hogan cared a great deal for the men under him at Stalag 13, this much relief seemed out of place. “Thank you for telling me, sir,” he said, his expression becoming neutral once more. “I’ll be certain to check on him.”

“Good,” Klink waved his hand to dismiss him. “Just leave my pistol.”

Hogan laughed. It wasn’t the harsh sound of Adler’s laughter but it wasn’t very pleasant either. “Nice try, sir. But we’re not leaving until you tell me why you’re so determined to do this.”

It _had_ been a nice try, hadn’t it? Klink put a hand to his forehead to stave off the approaching headache. Why did Hogan have to be so damned single-minded? It wasn’t even as though the man actually cared about his welfare— _then_ Klink could understand this. It wouldn’t make things any easier, but at least it’d be understandable. As it stood … as it stood, Hogan’s ‘concern’ left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Klink said, hurriedly burying his sudden melancholy under a thick layer of ire. Considering the shortness of his temper lately, it wasn’t hard to do. “What makes you think you have any right to come in here and demand answers from me?” Not interested in the answer to that question, he continued. “Why is it so difficult for you to understand that there’s no other way for me?”

“How can I understand if you won’t explain?” Hogan’s expression was calm, but Klink could hear the exasperation beneath coloring his tone. “I don’t understand why you’re insisting on making it so hard for me to help you.”

“I’m making it hard for _you_?” Hogan’s exasperation rankled. What right did that man have to get annoyed? _Klink_ wasn’t the one butting into _his_ personal life. _He_ wasn’t the one who had to die! Was it really so much to ask to be allowed to die in peace? “Why don’t you just go away?”

“Because I don’t want you to die,” Hogan said, his tone radiating sincerity. “I’d miss you.”

For the first time, Klink felt a flicker of genuine hatred for the American Colonel. Did he really think he was that gullible? That stupid? He’d been drunk yesterday, very drunk, so drunk he’d actually thought he’d locked his pistol in his desk without remembering having done so, but he hadn’t imagined what Hogan’s answer to his question had been—even his own imagination wouldn’t be so cruel to him. “Oh, yes. Because you’d miss having me around to use.”

The Senior POW was opening his mouth, but Klink wasn’t going to let himself listen to any more of these lies. “Just be quiet and listen to me,” he growled, letting Hogan hear his contempt. “I have no idea how being here is somehow convenient for you, and, frankly, I don’t care. Believe it or not, Hogan, I’m not here for your convenience. I’m not here so you can use me!”

“You’re right,” Hogan agreed quietly, actually looking a little dazed, “you’re not.” Then he rallied. “But that’s not why I want to help you.”

Klink smiled caustically. “You don’t want to help me,” he said, a realization crystallizing in his mind as the words left his mouth, “you want to, to preserve me. ‘I want to keep you around’. ‘I want to make you last.’” He laughed even as his heart became a lead weight in his chest. “You and General Adler have so much in common—I’m just a, a useful _thing_ to both of you.” He was shaking with rage (and something he wasn’t going to call hurt), feeling a measure of sadistic glee as he watched Colonel Hogan turn pale. “I know why _he_ wants to keep me around. What’s _your_ reason?”

Hogan stared back, his face contorted in what looked like an honest expression of remorse. “I hadn’t realized—” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

The American could sound very contrite when he wanted to; there was no doubt about that. If Klink hadn’t known better, he would have thought Hogan meant it. “Why should you apologize? You only told me the truth, for once.” He felt tears prick his eyes, and he bowed his head to stare at the desktop. Control. He had to get some control over himself. He was not going to start crying in front of these prisoners.

“It wasn’t the truth. I’m sorry for making you believe that it was, Klink.”

And there he went again, omitting his rank! That just showed how much respect Hogan had for him. Didn’t trust his judgment, didn’t listen to a word he had to say, lying to him, and now not giving him the professional courtesy of addressing him correctly. What was Hogan trying to accomplish with this?

“You’re not just a means to an end for me.”

Klink waved the statement off, refusing to let himself be charmed. “Then what am I to you?” He shook his head. “I know you don’t think much of me, but please don’t insult my intelligence by claiming we’re friends.”

A scoff. “No, sir. I wouldn’t go _that_ far.” Then, more seriously: “I know you. I know you better than I’ve known a lot of people. Hell, sometimes, I even like you a little.”

Now it was Klink’s turn to scoff. “Very generous of you.”

“I mean it,” Hogan insisted. “Come on, don’t you like me sometimes?”

A lump formed in Klink’s throat, and he swallowed it down with difficulty. He wasn’t sure what his feelings for the man standing in front of him were (especially with what had happened the last few days), but he could admit to a certain fondness. That was one of the reasons Hogan’s words yesterday had stung so badly. “I—I’m not liking you very much at the moment.”

“That feeling is mutual, sir,” Hogan quipped with good humor. Then his earlier sober tone returned. “But I mean it—it’s more than that it wouldn’t be the same without you here. I’d be sorry to see you die. More than that: I don’t _want_ you to die. I’m not lying when I say I’d miss you.”

Klink decided he hated this false sincerity more than the mock sympathy Adler gave him so often. Hogan was a much better actor than the General, and Klink despised himself for how close he kept coming to falling for it. “Sure you would—until you had time to bamboozle my replacement.” He looked up, wanting to see if Hogan would have the decency to look a little ashamed of himself.

He didn’t. Naturally.

“How long will it take you? A few days? A week?” Klink could hear the bitterness in his voice, but he didn’t care—let Hogan hear him be bitter! It wasn’t anything less than the man deserved for putting him through all this. “I’m sure you can manage _that_ small inconvenience.”

Hogan looked stunned. When he spoke, his tone was an interesting blend of incredulousness and anger. “Sir, please tell me that you’re not going to throw your life away just to spite _me_.”

Considering the reality of the situation, Hogan’s supposition was just too funny. “To _spite_ you?” Klink laughed heartily, amusement diffusing his remaining fury. It felt wonderful to laugh without being a moment away from hysterics! Once his laughter subsided, he grinned. “No, Hogan. This is to _help_ you.”

“To help me?” Hogan repeated, looking and sounding absolutely flabbergasted. “How would you killing yourself help me?”

It wasn’t very often Klink got to see Hogan so astounded, and he viewed the sight with both amusement and sadness—it’d be the last time he’d see him like this. While it would have been much simpler had Hogan decided not to try stopping him, he couldn’t deny he was glad to have had the chance to see the man again before he died. Even if his feelings, whatever they were, were only one-sided. “It’s nothing you’ll have to worry about,” he said finally, deciding he didn’t want to say anything too maudlin even if his thoughts had turned to that direction. “Leave me my pistol, and I can take care of everything.”

Hogan crossed his arms, still defiant. “Not until we’ve discussed this.”

The demand was so absurd Klink couldn’t get angry. “And then what happens, Colonel? You’ll give me _permission_ to shoot myself?” He laced his hands together in front of him and leaned forward. “Doesn’t that sound a little foolish to you?”

Hogan at least had the grace to look chagrined. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know,” Klink sighed, his levity leaving him as swiftly as it had come. The fact Hogan clearly thought he was stupid enough to put a pistol to his head without being sure it was the only viable choice was fairly depressing. “Is it really so difficult for you to believe that I have thought this through?” Not waiting for a response, he went on. “I don’t have any other options now, and, frankly, it’s not your concern what I decide to do.”

“Why can’t you tell me _why_ this is your only option?” Hogan pressed, his earlier embarrassment obviously forgotten. “You say this is to help me—doesn’t that _make_ it my concern?”

Put like that, Hogan had a slightly stronger case for butting into Klink’s affairs. But, slightly stronger case or not, Klink was tired of giving in. He was tired of constantly compromising himself for the pleasure of others. For their amusement. Why should he humiliate himself for Hogan? The man didn’t even like him! By his own admission, no less. Which still stung even though Klink wished it didn’t. “You’re not my friend, Hogan. Stop embarrassing yourself by pretending you actually care about what happens to me.”

A flash of anger flared in Hogan’s eyes as he stood up—making Klink suddenly glad there was a desk between them—but before he could say whatever he’d planned to say, a calm voice interrupted him.

“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

Honestly, Klink had almost forgotten the other man’s presence. From the startled look on Hogan’s face, it seemed he had too. “What is it, Kinch?” Hogan asked tightly, turning to address the Sergeant.

Kinchloe was shaking his head as he walked up to the desk to join his commanding officer. “You’re not going to get anywhere this way, Colonel.” He gestured towards Klink. “It can’t be a surprise to you that he’d be reluctant to talk. After what you told him yesterday, you know he has a right to feel this way. Getting into a shouting match about it won’t help.”

Klink watched in bewilderment as Hogan’s subordinate lectured him. He wouldn’t have thought the Senior POW would stand for such a thing, but the Sergeant didn’t seem worried about the repercussions of his words. And the words... Hogan must have spoken to him for him to know about what he had said. What _else_ did the Sergeant know?

He shook his head. Ridiculous. Hogan knew nothing very important, and Kinchloe could only know as much as Hogan did. Which was nothing. There was no reason for the nervous flutters in his stomach. None.

After a tense moment, Hogan let out a long sigh. “And what do you suggest I do? I can’t just leave him like this.”

“I think I know what to do now.” Kinchloe frowned thoughtfully. “Can I try speaking with the Commandant, sir?” At Hogan’s questioning look, the Negro shrugged. “I’m not sure he’ll listen to you right now, all things considered.”

It took little more than a second for Hogan to think it over. He nodded tersely. “Go for it.” He smirked, returning to his seat. “If you can get something out of him, I’ll put you in for a commendation!”

A bright smile lit up the dark face. “Thank you, sir.” He turned his smile on Klink, who tried not to shy away from it. “Commandant, I think the reason you won’t say why you’re planning on committing suicide is that explaining it would require you to say something you don’t want to say. Am I right?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Klink replied with no small amount of scorn. He considered protesting that he was not obligated to talk to any prisoner except the Senior POW but decided against making a fuss. He doubted the prisoners would start listening to him now, and he saw no reason to bring attention to his current impotence. Furthermore, he couldn’t deny being interested in seeing what grand plan the _other_ American had come up with.

Kinchloe nodded without rancor. “Yes. But, if we already knew what you don’t want to say, would you tell us why then?”

Pure panic stopped Klink’s breathing before he got a hold of himself. The Sergeant was bluffing. There was no way that he could possibly know what he was hinting to know. It was a feint and a fairly transparent one at that. “There’s no way that you could know that,” he stated flatly.

Kinchloe nodded agreeably. “But if we did, would you answer then?”

Klink frowned as he considered the idea. “I suppose I would,” he admitted at last. He’d have nothing to lose then. “But you don’t know, so this is a pointless question!”

The Sergeant’s smile was gentle. “Colonel Hogan discussed this ... situation with me because he’d wanted my advice.” He frowned a little at the reclining Hogan. “Although, what he did with it leaves something to be desired.”

Hogan sat up a little straighter. “I already apologized for that.”

“Yes, and that’s a start.” Kinchloe looked back to Klink, splaying his hands open in a placating way. “I know Colonel Hogan better than most people here, and I can tell you that he’s a very private man. He prefers to keep things on a mostly professional level if possible.”

Klink glanced at Hogan, who seemed as surprised to hear this statement as Klink was. “Kinch?”

The Sergeant ignored him. “The problem is that this isn’t a professional problem; it’s a personal one. Knowing that, he’s not the best person to deal with this situation, but right now, he’s all you’ve got.”

Klink tried to smile. The sad part was that this much was probably true. It still didn’t make him feel any more inclined to share anything with the Senior POW. “That’s fine, Sergeant, but I don’t see what this has to do with—”

“One of the things he _did_ do well,” Kinchloe continued, as though Klink hadn’t spoken, “was with a piece of advice I can see now that I’d been wrong about.” His smile was apologetic. “I had thought it would be better for you to say what was going on yourself. Clearly, it was foolish of me to think that you’d _want_ to talk about something you so desperately want to keep a secret. Why _would_ you just say it because someone asks?”

Blinking, Klink was momentarily dumbfounded. Why were they having this conversation if everything the Sergeant said was going to be so obvious? Hadn’t he just spent the last ten minutes arguing with Hogan, saying these exact same things himself?

“If you can understand that I’m not interested in discussing this,” he said, his frustration growing once again, “then you know it’s pointless to keep asking me.” He glared at the two of them. “Either tell me what you know or give me back my pistol and go away.”

The two Americans looked at each other. Kinchloe nodded, and Hogan took a deep breath, pushing out of his chair. “All right, Commandant,” Hogan said, sounding as uncomfortable as he looked, “I’ll tell you what I know. And then you can tell me why you’re so determined to throw your life away. Does that sound fair?”

Doubt bubbled up through Klink’s frustration. There was no way they could know what they were saying they knew. It simply wasn’t possible. And yet... And yet they both looked so confident. He hadn’t given them anything during this conversation—he was sure of that! And all Hogan had learned the day before was that General Adler was doing _something_ to him. He couldn’t have any idea what that something was.

He couldn’t.

“Yes,” Klink said at last, deciding he had little choice but to go along with this foolishness for the moment. “Now, what do you know?”

Hogan visibly settled himself. He seemed to be trying to find the right words before his shoulders slumped with a sigh. “General Adler is blackmailing you into having sex with him.”


	40. Like Pulling Hair

For a moment, Hogan was afraid Klink would faint. His face was ashen, and his monocle tumbled out of widened eyes. He caught the lens and replaced it mechanically as he visibly tried to recover from the shock. It was a slow process. “How?” he asked at last. “How could you have possibly come up with that? Did Fraulein Hilda talk to you?” He sounded almost betrayed.

Leaving aside the question of what Hilda knew about any of this (and, he realized belatedly, the question of why she hadn’t been in her office when he’d run into the Commandant), Hogan felt himself smile. At least Klink wasn’t trying to deny it outright. “No, I can assure you, sir, she didn’t. I figured this one out all on my own.”

Klink goggled at him in sheer disbelief. “How?”

Hogan tilted his head, getting an idea. God knew _he_ could use a bit of relief, even for just a minute. It would be a good test to see if what he was looking for was even there anymore. And what could it hurt, really? “I really had to rack my brain, sir.” As soon as Klink opened his mouth, Hogan spoke over him. “I was so proud of myself when I figured it out.”

Klink waited a moment before deeming it safe to try speaking again. “I see.” Irritation colored his tone as color returned to his face. “But _how_ did you figure it out?”

Hogan buffed his fingernails on his jacket. “It was an amazing bit of deductive reasoning—Sherlock Holmes couldn’t have done it better.”

“Fine.” Aggravation was almost winning out against the ever-present wariness. “How did _you_ do it?”

Almost. Just another little push. “I really think you’ll be impressed.”

“Hogan!” Klink exclaimed, raising his fist in vexation and sounding remarkably like himself. “Would you just explain how you know what you know!”

It was difficult, but Hogan managed not to grin. He’d known the old Klink was still in there somewhere! “No need to shout, Commandant.” Deciding he’d baited the man for long enough, he assumed a more serious expression. Although he hadn’t expected to be the one giving any explanations, the idea of confronting Klink with what he knew had occurred to him before now, and he’d devoted some thought to the problem of how he could have discovered the Commandant’s circumstances through ‘innocent’ means.

What he’d come up with in the end wasn’t perfect, but now the Commandant knew that he knew, it would have to do.

“During that escape attempt two days ago—that’s when I figured it out.”

Whatever explanation Klink had expected, it clearly hadn’t been that. Confusion, suspicion, and something like worry came together to form a very uncomfortable expression. “How?”

And here went everything. “It was the way you were acting, sir.” At the man’s perplexed (and strangely agitated) look, Hogan explained: “You seemed unhappy even though you’d gotten what you’d wanted.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It seemed strange to me. The only reason for that I could think of was something had gone wrong with your plan. The only thing that could go wrong, as far as I could see, was if General Adler had decided to wait you out.”

Klink seemed skeptical but said nothing.

“But the problem with that idea was how would _you_ know he’d decided to do that? You would have had to have heard it from General Adler himself or someone sent by him, but _I_ didn’t see anyone go into the office building after Sergeant Schultz and I came out. So, that meant General Adler _must_ have already been inside _before_ Schultz and I came in to talk to you.”

Hogan could see Klink was following the story closely, looking for flaws in Hogan’s reasoning. His brow was furrowed. “But that doesn’t mean...” He shook his head, apparently deciding to rescind his objection for now. “Continue.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Hogan inclined his head in acknowledgment. “The problem then was _where_ had General Adler been when we were there? I didn’t see him anywhere obvious. So, had he been hiding? Where and why? And then there were those questions you asked Schultz— _he_ already believed me, so who were you trying to convince? When he left, you were desperate to keep me quiet. Why would you do that when we were alone?”

Klink was obviously trying to come up with an answer to that question, but Hogan saved him the embarrassment. “Because we _weren’t_ alone. General Adler had been there, in your bedroom, listening, the whole time.” Hogan took a hand out of his pocket to sneak a cigar from the box. It was more out of habit than anything else. Harmless enough though, as long as the Commandant didn’t notice—

“Why don’t you have a cigar, Hogan,” Klink offered with halfhearted exasperation. It was obvious Hogan’s kleptomania wasn’t very high on his priority list at the moment—not without good reason, of course. He waited impatiently for Hogan to make his selection before his frown deepened. “What about the rest of it?”

Hogan put the cigar in his pocket for later. “Well, the rest was easy after that. There aren’t many kinds of meetings that involve taking your clothes off. And if that had been something you’d wanted to do with Adler, you wouldn’t have asked me for a way out of it.” To be honest, he knew he wouldn’t have come to this conclusion if he _hadn’t_ already been in the know.

However, it sounded plausible and that was what counted. With any luck, Klink would buy this story, and it would not be necessary to explore the question of just how honest Hogan was willing to be: there was only so honest he could _afford_ to be.

Klink stared down at the desk for several seconds as he digested this. When he looked up again, he was smiling faintly, stunned. “I... That’s incredible,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I see that I’ve been underestimating you, Colonel.” He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “To think that you could be certain enough to confront me with … with this with nothing more than what you saw of my feelings to go on.”

Hogan allowed himself a grin. “Well, sir, I _did_ say it was quite a good bit of detective work.”

“Yes,” Klink agreed quietly, still not quite recovered. Then he paled. “Who else have you told this to? Besides Sergeant Kinchloe?”

The Commandant wouldn’t like the truthful answer to this question, but this was the kind of needless lie that could come back and bite him later. “Sergeant Carter, Corporal Newkirk, and Corporal LeBeau.” At Klink’s accusing stare, Hogan shrugged. “I needed their advice, sir.”

Klink looked queasy as he slumped down into the chair. “Their advice.” His hands came up to cover his face. “I’m finished,” he moaned with quiet despair. “Even if no one will believe them officially, I’m still finished.”

“They’ll keep quiet,” Hogan hastened to assure him, bending down a bit so he could be level with Klink’s face. “I’ll admit, they don’t like you very much, but they’ll keep quiet for me.”

As he’d been speaking, Klink’s hands slid away to reveal his expression. He seemed less than reassured. “They’ll keep quiet for _you_?” A small scoff. “And what do _you_ want for their silence? More bread? Longer showers?” He struggled to his feet, his earlier anger returning with a vengeance. “If you think for one moment that I’ll allow _you_ to blackmail me, too—!”

“I don’t want to blackmail you, Commandant,” Hogan said quickly, hoping to head-off this latest mood swing before it really got going. “The only thing I want is for you to talk to me. Just tell me why you think suicide is the only answer.” He held out his hands beseechingly. “I know you don’t trust me, but you don’t have to trust me to know that if _anyone_ can figure out a solution, it’s me.”

Anger gave way to something defeated and tired. “There _is_ no solution.” He sat back down with a wince. “But at the moment, it seems I have no other choice but to hear you out.”

Probably the best he could expect to get at this point. Hogan turned to Kinch and scratched his ear. “I think I’ve got this situation under control now, Kinch. You can go back to the Barracks.”

Kinch hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“No,” Klink said suddenly, almost looking as surprised as they were that he’d said anything at all. “No, let him stay.” His smile was hard and unpleasant. “You’re just going to tell him whatever you drag out of me anyway—why not save everyone some time?”

That _had_ been Hogan’s plan, but he could hardly explain to the Commandant why having Kinch stay would put a crimp in it! Still, maybe it _would_ be better to have the radioman stay for now—he’d certainly come in handy earlier. And, maybe, seeing the new Klink in action would give him some more ideas about what to do about this mess. He gave Kinch a shrug. “You heard the man. It’s up to you.”

Kinch nodded before turning to Klink. “If you wouldn’t mind, Commandant, I’d like to stay.”

“Mind?” Klink asked, his air of amusement utterly failing to hide the sudden resentment. “Why should I mind?” He crossed his arms and slunk down like a sullen child. “I’ve _always_ enjoyed discussing my private business with an audience.” Then he laughed acrimoniously. “Maybe Colonel Hogan would like to invite the _rest_ of Barracks 2 and make a _real_ show of it!”

Hogan knew it would do no good to get annoyed by this latest display of irrationality and churlishness. He knew that. However, if the man thought he was going to get away with being _this_ sarcastic when _he’d_ been the one to make the suggestion, he had another thought coming! “Sir, _you_ said Sergeant Kinchloe could stay.”

“I said you might as well _let_ him stay,” Klink corrected contemptuously, “because you can’t keep _a bit of good gossip_ to yourself.” Not giving Hogan an opportunity to defend himself against this allegation, he turned his ire on Kinch. “Why do you _want_ to be here? Are you hoping to hear some sordid details?” The accusation was harsh. “Would hearing what that monster did to me _amuse_ you?”

Kinch, unsurprisingly, looked disturbed by the notion. “No, sir.”

“Then why?” Klink demanded, his eyes alight with something not quite sane. “Why do you want to stay?”

“Because I might be needed,” Kinch said calmly, simply.

Confusion cooled the fury which had been so clearly building. “Why would you be needed?”

Kinch smiled. “Colonel Hogan is a fine commander, but I can see that he might need help with something as delicate as this.” He stood up straighter. “If you would rather I leave, I will.”

Klink seemed surprised—whether by the explanation or the offer, Hogan couldn’t say. “You mean that?” At Kinch’s nod, his brow furrowed in thought. After a long moment, he sighed. “Very well, Sergeant,” he granted, waving his hand in magnanimous defeat. “You may stay, although I can’t imagine what you could possibly be needed for.”

Kinch’s smile was bright. “Thank you, sir.”

The thanks was waved away with impatience. Klink returned his attention to Hogan. “And what happens now?”

While this wasn’t how he’d envisioned this conversation, at least they were moving more or less in the right direction. _Let’s see how long_ that _lasts_ , Hogan thought darkly. “Now, you tell me why you’re so committed to suicide,” he said in a firm but kindly tone.

The Commandant seemed to grow older and smaller as Hogan watched. “I suppose I have nothing left to lose,” he said softly.

Hogan forced himself to smile. “That’s the spirit, sir.”

As he’d hoped, the despair in Klink’s eyes turned to annoyance. Then he shook his head, weary once more. “Sit down,” he ordered flatly. “I don’t want to keep looking up at you.”

Once Hogan and Kinch were seated, Klink stared down at the desktop. “I … I’m not sure where to start.”

“You told me you weren’t going to kill yourself,” Hogan reminded him. Some other time, if need be, Klink could start at the beginning. At the moment, though, they needed to get to the bottom of this suicide thing or else the rest wouldn’t matter. “Why did you change your mind?”

Klink bit his lip, looking pensive, before sighing again. “When I told you my plans … I was _certain_ that General Burkhalter would transfer me. I … I couldn’t,” he shuddered, “I couldn’t do it, Hogan.” He looked up, asking for understanding. “I couldn’t. Go to Berlin with that swine. I didn’t think I could keep my sanity there.”

He thought he was keeping his sanity _here_? Hogan couldn’t decide if it was more ridiculous or sad Klink could imply that with a straight face. “General Burkhalter didn’t act like he’d give Adler the time of day, let alone approve a transfer for him,” he said, putting aside the matter of the Commandant’s sanity (or lack there of) for later. He frowned with slightly exaggerated puzzlement. “The way he was talking to General Adler, well, it makes a guy wonder just what _he_ knows about all this.”

“He knows enough to warn me to be careful,” Klink supplied, his tone an interesting blend of bitter and amused. “He told me to keep Adler away from the prisoners and to report to him if,” he faltered but only for a moment, “if anything happened.” Shaking his head, he managed a harsh bark of laughter. “It would have been nice if he had thought to cover the well _before_ the child drowned!” His mood took an abrupt turn for the somber, and he looked away from Hogan, ashamed “You must have realized what Adler tried to do to your Sergeant. I’m … I’m sorry I let that happen.”

Now, Hogan’s puzzled frown was completely genuine. “But you said Sergeant Schultz—”

Klink carelessly waved away the words. “Oh, yes, Schultz caught the swine before he could do very much, but I don’t know if he tried it before then and _didn’t_ happen to be caught.” He huffed, looking miserable and sounding angry. “Right under my nose, Hogan—right under my nose!” His gaze drifted down towards the desktop. “I’m sorry, Colonel. I should have been able to realize what sort of man Adler was sooner.”

It was a bit surprising to Hogan that the Commandant seemed so devastated by this. Sure, the fact Adler had been hitting on his men wasn’t something he was happy to hear, but it wasn’t something he could realistically blame Klink for either. The man wasn’t a mind reader, after all. Thank goodness.

Although, honestly, as soon as he’d heard about Klink’s blackmail problem, the idea Adler might have gone after prisoners, too, should have occurred to him. That it didn’t, he could only attribute to the sheer amount of denial he’d been dealing with the last couple of days. “You don’t have to apologize for that, sir,” he said kindly. “How were you supposed to know?

“This is my camp,” Klink snapped. “I should know what’s going on in my own camp!”

Hogan didn’t wince, but he could have. If only Klink knew just how _much_ happened in ‘his own camp,’ ‘right under his nose’! Seeing him in this state now over what Adler had possibly gotten away with, the man would probably _pop_ if he ever realized the extent to which he’d been duped by Hogan and his men.

With any luck, Klink would not realize that until _after_ the war. It would make things problematic if he somehow discovered it _before_ then, to say the least!

Of course, now they’d gotten off topic. “All right, so you were going to commit suicide if you were transferred. But if General Burkhalter has his way, that will never happen.”

“Which is why I told you I wasn’t going to do it,” Klink said irritably. “Unfortunately, after I spoke with you, General Adler demanded something of me that I can’t agree to.” His expression became firm and full of sudden fire. “I don’t care how little that man thinks of me—I won’t just hand one of your men over to him. I won’t!”

“One of my men?” Well, it shouldn’t be _that_ surprising: Adler had tried it at least once already. In many ways, the fact Adler had given up on prisoners to blackmail Klink didn’t make much sense. POWs were certainly safer ‘prey’ than, say, Luftwaffe colonels—less likely to be armed, for one thing. And less likely to be believed if they got as far as reporting anything, for another. Of course, now that Adler _had_ said Colonel under his thumb... “Why would he want one of my men when he—” Hogan broke off, deciding that wasn’t the right way to put it. “I mean—”

“When he has me,” Klink finished, bowing his head. “It’s … it’s not easy to say.” He sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I … I haven’t been _well_ lately.”

That was an understatement! “You mean the way you act like I’m going to eat you alive?” Hogan asked with exaggerated innocence. “No, I haven’t noticed that at all.”

Flushing, Klink scowled up at Hogan. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that I am not … _physically_ well.” Then he glared. “And I do _not_ act like you’re going to eat me alive. I’m not afraid of you.” He’d made a valiant effort, but Hogan could see the truth in his eyes.

It was a truth Hogan wasn’t interested in forcing out of him. “All right, sir. But what does that have to do with my men?”

“Adler would like to, ah, lessen the strain on me.” His expression tightened. “He made it sound like a favor.”

“The strain?” Hogan asked, feeling like he should know what Klink was talking about. The groan from Kinch underscored the feeling.

The look of mortification on Klink’s face was just the final nail in the coffin. “Adler, he … and I, well, I can’t … and it’s—” he interrupted himself with a growl and covered his eyes, frustrated. “I can’t relax when he—it hurts me. I’m almost lame without a painkiller. Do you understand _now_?”

Hogan didn’t embarrass easily, but this explanation had almost done it. “I see.” He coughed into his fist to clear his throat as he thought. This plan of Adler’s …. considering how much the General had to risk by being caught, this seemed poorly planned. “Seems a little risky to me, sir, doing that to a prisoner with all these guards around.”

“He doesn’t plan to do it here,” Klink said, irritated. “He said, he said he’d made arrangements outside of camp. He said that if I came with them, there would be no need for a guard.” A shudder went through him as though something about the thought disturbed him.

All right, so Adler was a little smarter than he’d given him credit for. Still, it seemed to Hogan , it remained a risky proposition even so. And just to save Klink some … ‘strain’? That didn’t add up with the image Hogan had of the Gestapo General at all. “I was under the impression that General Adler wasn’t very interested in your welfare.”

Klink seemed confused for a moment before he shook his head “He’s not. He just doesn’t want to break his toy.” He spoke so simply, so matter-of-factly, it took Hogan a second to realize the full weight of what he’d said. “He can’t wear me out too quickly,” his lips twisted into something too strained to be a smile, “if he wants me to _last_.”

The emphasis on the final word reminded Hogan uncomfortably of Klink’s contention that he and Adler merely thought of the Commandant as a useful thing to be kept around. It would take a lot of work to convince Klink he was mistaken about the comparison—if he could do it at all at this point.

But that wasn’t important right now. “Do you need a doctor?”

A sad half-smile. “I’m not going to be alive long enough for that to matter.”

And so, they had come back full circle, and Hogan _still_ didn’t have the answer to the most important question! “So, why are you planning to kill yourself?”

Klink frowned at him as though Hogan had asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard. Considering his earlier ‘strain’ question, this meant something. Then he looked away. “I haven’t been able to say ‘no’ to anything that swine has wanted from me since this started. I’m certain this demand will not be any easier to resist.”

“Sir?” The reason couldn’t possibly be what Klink was leading up to.

Now, Klink forced himself to look Hogan in the eyes. The earlier fire had returned, and he sat up straight and tall. “The only way to stop General Adler in the end will be to kill him, and once I do that, well, it would be better if I were no longer around to interrogate.”

Frankly, Hogan was taken aback by the implication. It wasn’t as though he would have expected the Commandant to gleefully sell them out; it was just he would have thought Klink’s sense of self-preservation would have forced him to agree outright, no matter how much he didn’t like it. That Hogan had managed to judge the man so incorrectly … it was more than a little startling. “Are you telling me that you’ve decided to kill yourself for _our_ sake?” He didn’t bother masking his bewilderment. “Why?”

Klink smirked. “Because I don’t hate you that much.”

Hogan had never liked having his own words used against him. “Sir—”

“You and your men are my responsibility—you’re in my care,” Klink explained with exaggerated patience. He shook his head, insulted. “Do you honestly think so little of me that you’d believe I would just throw one of you to that monster for him to, to _play_ with if I could do something to prevent it?”

“And killing yourself is the best way of doing that?” Hogan asked, incredulous.

“It’s not as though I can turn him in, Hogan,” Klink countered, his tone revealing his own frustration with his lack of options. “If I do that, he’ll have nothing to lose by implicating _me_ for … for...” he trailed off before rallying himself. “There’s too much evidence against me—I won’t have a defense. I’ll be arrested and discharged and God-knows-what after that.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “If I … if I kill Adler and I’m caught, the Gestapo … they’ll find out why I did it, and it’ll end in exactly the same way.” A bitter chuckle. “The choice seems clear enough to me.”

Hogan had to admit Klink had thought his options through, at least, the options as far as he’d known them. And he was so adamant about it! Had he ever seen the Commandant this way? It was surprising, to be sure, but it was heartening too. While it was possible Klink was merely looking for any justification to kill Adler, he seemed to be genuinely insulted by the idea he’d trade a prisoner to save himself.

Hogan planned on saving Klink if he could anyway, but now he was that much more determined not to fail. “And that’s why you’re committed to suicide.”

“What would you have me do?” Klink demanded, evidently taking the statement as another protest. “You can’t be saying I should just let General Adler have his way with one of your men!” His voice took on an angry, sickened tone. “None of you deserve that.”

There was something about the way the Commandant said this which rang a bell in Hogan’s mind. As much as his hunches seemed to fail him when it came to the new Klink, he decided to give his gut another chance to redeem itself. “And you do, sir?”

The German froze long enough to confirm Hogan had nailed it. “Of course not,” he said unconvincingly, his earlier conviction conspicuously absent. “What do you mean by that?”

Klink was a horrible liar. It was clear he _did_ believe he deserved what Adler was doing to him, which explained why he’d said he hadn’t deserved Hilda’s concern but did nothing to explain why he held that belief. Why would he believe he deserved this? Considering how long it had taken Hogan to dispel his own doubts on that score, it was almost funny Klink seemed to share them himself.

The foot which lightly kicked his leg wasn’t unexpected and wasn’t necessary. Hogan knew the important thing was to talk Klink out of his plans—smoothing out the wrinkles in Klink’s outlook had to wait until they weren’t trying to defuse a bomb with a temperamental timer. “Nothing, sir,” Hogan said with an apologetic smile. “I was just running off at the mouth again.”

While it was plain that Klink didn’t quite believe this, he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he merely nodded, his face assuming a more business-like expression. “Are you ready to admit that my plan is the best one?”

It was the best one as far as Klink knew, yes. However, it wasn’t the best plan by a long shot. Obviously, Hogan wasn’t going to let Adler have any of the men under his command. Just as obviously, he wasn’t going to let Klink kill himself either. Possible solutions were coming to mind but most of them involved involving Colonel Klink more than his men would be comfortable with—with good reason, of course. Still, he was confident he could come up with something which wouldn’t require either his operation’s discovery _or_ Klink’s untimely demise.

Klink pushed himself up out of his chair to stand stiffly, in pain but supporting himself on his own two feet. “For what it’s worth, Colonel, I wish there was some other way, too.” His smile was wistful and sad. “But sometimes, you have to admit defeat.”

Sometimes … but not today! Hogan stood. “Give me some time.”

Blinking, Klink gaped at him in incomprehension. “What?”

“Give me some time,” Hogan repeated. “I’m sure I can come up with something workable, but I need a little time.”

Shaking his head, Klink regarded Hogan with frustration and something akin to pity. “And what to do you think _you_ will be able to do about any of this?”

Now, it was Hogan’s turn to hesitate. On the one hand, it simply wasn’t safe to reveal too much to the Commandant—the man was working for the enemy and had the power to do quite a bit to make Hogan’s life very uncomfortable if he so chose. On the other hand, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d depended on Klink keeping his mouth shut—something he did very well when it came to saving his own skin. There had been times when Klink had caught him, had had him dead to rights, and had _not_ turned him in.

Seeing as there was so much at stake for him now, Hogan decided he could risk what he was about to give. “Do you remember a Colonel Hoople?”

Klink’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Hogan?”

Clearly, Klink hadn’t forgotten. Grinning, Hogan held out his hand. “Did you know him well?” He gave the Commandant a cartoonish wink and waited.

For a long moment, Klink didn’t move. Hope warred with suspicion before giving way to cautious acceptance. He reached out a lightly trembling hand to grasp Hogan’s. “No,” he answered solemnly. “I’d never met that man before that day.” He shook Hogan’s hand. “And I haven’t seen him since.”

Hogan nodded and carefully extracted his hand from Klink’s slick one. “Shame. I heard he was a devilishly handsome fellow.”

A choked sound came from the Commandant, embarrassment coloring his face. Hogan didn’t even bother trying to guess at the reason—the old Klink had never been this moody. When he’d caught his breath again, he bit his lip. “I don’t think money is one of the things Adler is interested in.”

“Probably not,” Hogan agreed easily. “But I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeves, sir.”

“Tricks,” Klink said without enthusiasm. “The only trick I’d be interested in is making Adler disappear, but I doubt you can manage that.”

Hogan forced himself to laugh. At least Klink didn’t think he could _do_ that much. But how to get him to wait? “Yes, sir. That _is_ a bit beyond my skill.” He didn’t let himself show any outward signs of the furious torrent of thoughts he was currently sifting through. He needed something, anything!, that would convince Klink to wait—even if just for tonight. Within moments, he found just the thing. “But if we can just _delay_ General Adler, that would be enough.”

“Delay him?” Klink frowned in thought.

“Well, sir,” Hogan said reasonably, “General Burkhalter isn’t going to let General Adler stay here forever, is he?” At Klink’s slow head shake, he continued with an earnest smile, “All you’ll have to do is put the General off until he’s forced to leave. It shouldn’t be _too_ much longer, right?”

Klink’s frown deepened. “General Burkhalter assured me that he would be calling Berlin to have them recall him.” For someone who’d been presented a viable alternative to suicide, he didn’t seem especially pleased.

“Is there a problem with that, sir?”

“This,” Klink’s fingers went to his collar, “is what he did to me when I refused him today.” He tugged the collar down enough for Hogan to see the finger shaped bruises encircling his throat.

Hogan had noticed them before, when he’d knocked into the Commandant—being so close to Klink’s neck, there had been no way to miss them—but he hadn’t given them much thought at the time. Afterwards … well, afterwards, he’d wanted to throttle the stubborn man himself.

“What will he do to me when I refuse tonight?” Klink asked quietly, seriously. Clearly not expecting an answer, he went on. “If I thought I could withstand him for very long, I would hardly need to kill myself.”

This was less than encouraging. “It wouldn’t _have_ to be for very long,” Hogan argued, considering just how long it would take him to come up with something workable and implement it. Naturally, the more time he got, the better he could accomplish his goals, but it was obvious Klink wasn’t going to be willing to be very patient. 

“Then how long?” Klink asked with derision. He pointed an accusing finger at him before he could even open his mouth. “I want a plain answer—you won’t trick me again.”

Klink would never agree to three or four days. Maybe, if he was persuasive enough, he’d be able to get Klink to commit to two, but he didn’t think he could count on that. One day wouldn’t give him much of a chance to come up with anything permanent. 

Still, even an impermanent solution was better than a dead Commandant! And if he could get the plan percolating in his mind together quickly enough, he might be able to string Klink along long enough to implement it. “Two days,” he said simply, deciding to try for the extra time anyway. “I have an idea, but I need two days to put it together.”

“You expect me to believe that you have an actual _plan_ in mind?”

Hogan saw the faint hope beneath the scorn and latched onto it. “That’s right, sir. I have something that will work, and all I need is for you to wait two days.” He hesitated for a second before resigning himself; it was cruel but necessary at this point. “It shouldn’t be a problem unless you were _lying_ about wanting to live.”

Klink’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a liar.”

A carefully calculated careless shrug. “You know what they say, Commandant: actions speak louder than words.” It was hard to know how thickly he needed to lay this on. He didn’t want to push too hard, but he needed Klink’s cooperation. If Klink insisted on taking the suicide route, there wouldn’t be much Hogan would be able to do about it.

The German’s hands clenched into tight fists at his side as his face darkened with anger. “I’m not a liar,” he repeated.

It was a risk. Kinch’s kick to his shin aside, it was a risk which needed to be taken. Hogan looked the Commandant in the eyes. “I think you are.”

The immediate reaction of the Commandant made Hogan think, maybe, he’d gone too far. The man shook with barely controlled rage, his fists so tightly clenched he had to be hurting himself. “You—” He slammed his fist on the desktop—nudging the crowbar forward enough to knock the already damaged cigar box to the floor—and made an uncomplimentary statement about Hogan’s relationship to his mother as well as the circumstances surrounding Hogan’s birth and before he froze. Then he looked down at his fist. “That hurt,” he said, sounding almost as though he were surprised. He didn’t move, his attention seeming to be fixated on something Hogan couldn’t see.

It wasn’t often Hogan didn’t know what to say, but when he didn’t know what to say, he usually opted to say nothing. Hogan said nothing. There was some kind of balancing act going on in front of him, and he knew anything he said could tip the balance. Better to wait and see what happened without his input.

Finally, Klink looked up. His face was flushed, although from embarrassment or from the exertion of his outburst, Hogan couldn’t tell. “You want two days?” There was no challenge in the question—only a sort of detached puzzlement.

Hogan let out the breath he’d been holding. Oh, he was going to get an earful from Kinch later, but his gamble seemed to be paying off. “Yes.”

Klink’s frown was troubled as he slowly retook his seat. “I don’t know if I can do that, Hogan.”

He was wavering, Hogan could see it. “Then give me one day to start with. Maybe that’s all I’ll need.”

The seconds passed quietly as the Commandant flexed his abused hand, examining it intently. “I think,” he said at last in an uncertain tone, “I can give you that.” His smile was full of self-loathing. “Even if I can’t stand up to General Adler, it will be too late for him to do anything tonight.”

Not ideal but it was a start. At least now Hogan had some time to play with—enough time to see if the plan he was already thinking of was possible. “You won’t regret this, sir.”

The narrowing of Klink’s eyes indicated he was already regretting it. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do something?” His arms started to move, as though to wrap around his middle before he shook his head. His arms returned to his sides. “This had better not be another trick.”

“It’s not,” Hogan assured him. “Just promise me you won’t do anything permanent tomorrow until I have a chance to talk to you.”

There was a tense moment where Hogan thought Klink would refuse. Then it passed, and he nodded. It was a clipped gesture. “I promise. Now, return my pistol and return to your barracks. I think,” his face became weary, “I think I’d like to be alone.”

While Hogan didn’t think for a moment this was a good idea, he didn’t see what else he could do. It was unlikely he’d get any further than he’d gotten if he continued to press, and he _did_ have plans to plan and men to brief. He supposed it was only fair: he was asking Klink to trust him, and Klink was asking Hogan for that same trust in return.

He reached into his jacket and didn’t react to the terror on the Commandant’s face for the short time he held the Luger aloft before depositing it on the desk.

Klink looked relieved, and Hogan was relieved to see he was in no hurry to pick it up.

Hogan snapped to attention and offered Klink a salute. “If you decide you’d like some company—”

“I know where to find you.” Klink returned the salute with a small, worn, but genuine smile. “Dismissed.”

Kinch and Hogan left the office building in silence. There was a lot to be said, but it would have to wait until they’d had a chance to brief Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau on the newest knots in the Klink mess. As for what had just happened in Klink’s office … well, Hogan supposed he couldn’t have realistically expected it to go much better than it had. At least he’d gotten Klink to wait (if Hogan could trust him) and that gave him something more valuable than a hundred Red Cross chocolates: time.

He only hoped, as he and Kinch made their way to Barracks 2, that the briefing would go quickly; there was a lot to do and not much time to do it.

* * *

The briefing didn’t take as long as Hogan had expected. It turned out Carter had noticed Hogan and Kinch running towards the office building, thought something might be up, and then had gone to find Newkirk and LeBeau. Once he’d found them and told them what he’d seen, they’d all gone to Hogan’s office to listen in on the bug—to make sure that everything was all right there.

Hogan was only grateful that they had, apparently, only started listening in _after_ the failed emotional appeal. As far as they were concerned, Klink’s usefulness _was_ the reason Hogan wanted to save him, and Hogan was in no hurry to disabuse them of the notion. He didn’t enjoy lying to them by any means, but with the situation being what it was, keeping them in the dark about his other motivations was the best way of getting what needed to be done done quickly.

Now that Klink wasn’t the only one in danger, he could justify twisting the truth. Even if he didn’t give a damn about the German—even if he hated the man—, he would _still_ have to get involved: if Klink lost his nerve to commit suicide and Adler managed to break him, then Adler would be turning his attention to the prisoners. That was something Hogan refused to allow after seeing what sort of damage Adler was doing to Klink.

Which reminded him: he would have to have Kinch see to Sergeant William Jackson as well as make discreet inquires as to whether Adler had tried (and succeeded) the same with anyone else since he’d been here. Kinch was the natural choice for this: he seemed to understand this sort of trouble the best, and the radioman was nothing if not discreet.

Of course, that would have to come later. At the moment, now that he was up to speed with what the men knew and they were up to speed with what Hogan wanted them to know, it was time to make sure he still had their support.

Hogan regarded them with a serious look. “What’s the verdict?”

“We have to help him,” Carter said simply.

“’Course we do,” Newkirk agreed sourly, “because if the Iron Chicken doesn’t manage to off himself properly, we’ll be in the hands of General Poof.” Crossing his arms, he looked disgusted. “The governor told us that he wanted to do himself in yesterday—nothing’s changed. He’s still a rotter, no matter what he says.” He stared at Carter, LeBeau, and Kinch in turn with a hairy eyeball. “If you lot want to get all soft for the Jerry, leave me out of it.”

LeBeau was frowning but, for the moment, seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself.

Kinch shook his head. “Newkirk—” He broke off with a sigh. Hogan wondered whether or not the two men had had a chance to clear the air yet—while they didn’t look angry with each other, he could sense how close a thing it was. All it would take was a small argument to set off something larger and louder than Hogan wanted to deal with.

Carter, on the other hand, clearly didn’t share Kinch’s restraint. “Come on,” he said with an earnest smile, “even if the Commandant couldn’t actually do it for us, it’s the thought that counts.” The incredulous look on Newkirk’s face was mirrored on Kinch’s and LeBeau’s faces (and possibly Hogan’s own), but the younger man didn’t appear to notice. “Don’t you think so, LeBeau?”

Recovering, LeBeau slowly shook his head. “I don’t think that matters, _André_.” He rubbed his chin with his knuckles, frowning again. “What matters is what we will do about it. Whatever we think about this mess,” he glared briefly at Newkirk, who ignored it, “we have no choice but to get involved.”

Hogan nodded. “That’s my feeling as well.”

“Do you have a plan, sir?” Kinch asked.

“I think I might,” Hogan answered cautiously, “but nothing’s certain until I can get some outside assistance for this.” He sunk his hands into his pockets. “So far, the plan is that I have Klink agree to send a prisoner with Adler out of camp. Then, on the way to their destination, they meet a bit of trouble—General Adler is kidnapped, leaving Klink and the prisoner to come back to camp without him. Since the trouble happened outside of camp, and since no one in their right mind would think Klink was capable of killing and getting rid of a Gestapo general, _and_ since, from what London can tell us, no one who is in any position to make things uncomfortable will care very much that he’s gone missing, the camp, the Commandant, and us remain blameless.”

Hogan could see the questions on their faces, but he had more to say. “I want people from the outside for this plan because I need people Klink doesn’t know or will ever see again. I’d like to keep the Commandant in the dark about what we can really do from here if possible.” He smiled slightly. “While he’ll be grateful for a while, I can’t trust that he won’t decide to try investigating _how_ we managed it later on.” He took his hands out of his pockets and held them out to the men. “What do you think?”

“Glad to see that you haven’t been _completely_ taken in,” Newkirk said, the set of his shoulders relaxing a bit.

LeBeau was still frowning. “Who did you have in mind for this outside help?”

That was the snag. “I don’t have much time to put this together,” Hogan explained, knowing his choice would not receive enthusiastic support. To be honest, he wasn’t very thrilled with the idea of depending on those men either when the _last_ time they were going to do a mission, they’d backed out the last minute. But he didn’t see who else he could tap on such short notice. Not when he only had a day to plan. “So, I think the Seven Simeons will have to do.”

The displeased reactions were immediate.

“Seven Simpletons, more like!”

“Gosh, after what they did to us last time?”

“Isn’t there anyone else!”

“Are you sure—”

Hogan raised his hands for quiet and answered the questions in reverse order. “Yes, I’m sure. No, there isn’t. After what they did to us, they _owe_ us a favor.” He let his own contempt for them show as he addressed the first point. “And the plan I have in mind doesn’t require much skill.” When he saw the men gearing up for new protests, Hogan shook his head. “I know, I know. I don’t like it either, but I need people Klink won’t recognize _or_ see again, and I need them fast. If I use people from town, he might know them, and there’s no time to send for more competent agents.”

While they still seemed less than pleased, there were no further outbursts.

Until Carter spoke up. “But who will go with Adler and Klink?”

“Yeah, whose bum are you putting on the line?” The challenge in Newkirk’s voice was unmistakable.

“Mine,” Hogan said flatly.

“But, _Colonel_ ,” LeBeau objected, “what if your plan doesn’t work, and we need a new one?”

That wasn’t a possibility Hogan wanted to think too much about. Unfortunately, it was just that possibility which had made him realize he was the one who would have to go. “I’m not going to order any of you to take that risk. It’s my plan, my risk,” he shot a glance at Newkirk, “and my butt.”

Newkirk somehow managed to look chagrined and defiant at the same time but, thankfully, kept his mouth shut.

“What if you had a volunteer?” Kinch asked in a way which told Hogan _he_ wasn’t keen to volunteer but wanted to get the suggestion out in the open.

Hogan smiled. “Are you volunteering?” Not giving him an opportunity to answer, he gave his thoughts on the subject. “If one of you wants to volunteer, I won’t say ‘no’, but I don’t expect anyone to—and I don’t blame anyone for that either.” His gaze moved from one silent man to another until he’d looked at them all, showing them he meant this. “This could go badly in the end.” He closed his eyes to save himself from any visual responses to his accidental, and not coincidentally, very unfunny pun. That was something he definitely didn’t want to think about!

There was a moment of silence. Hogan was about to open his eyes and start assigning the various jobs which would need to be done when an unexpected voice making an unexpected offer tore through the quiet like a fist through tissue.

“I volunteer!”

Hogan’s mouth and eyes came open with a snap.

“You, _Pierre_?” LeBeau asked, startled. “Why?”

Newkirk shrugged, his nonchalance, while convincing, not quite convincing enough to fool Hogan. “I could do with a bit of time outside of camp,” he said, as though he’d just agreed to go on a picnic rather than get involved with a mission.

Considering how disdainful the Englishman had been about the subject … that he’d volunteer for this mission out of the blue was nothing short of bizarre.

“Wow, that was fast!” Carter was smiling, seeming to take Newkirk’s sudden change of heart in stride. “I knew you couldn’t be so stubborn forever.”

A pained look crossed Newkirk’s face before he focused his attention on Hogan, serious. “I volunteer, Colonel. Just tell me what I have to do.”

Hogan nodded, not willing to insult the Englishman by asking if he was sure about this after such a clear offer. “Thank you, Corporal. With any luck, all you’ll have to do is sit pretty in the back of a staff car for a while.” He smiled encouragingly. “Just be your normal, charming self.” He realized, after he’d said this, that this might not have been the best advice he could have given.

A snort. “I think I’d rather play hard to get, if it’s all the same to you, sir.” Newkirk was a good actor: he hardly looked nervous about the prospect at all. It was only the slight stiffness of his posture as he leaned lazily against the table which gave him away to Hogan.

“All right,” Hogan said brightly, leaving the matter of Newkirk’s volunteer status until later, when he could speak to the man without so many witnesses. “We don’t have much time, so let’s get started.”


	41. Strike While the Iron is Cool

And almost as quickly as Hogan and Kinchloe had arrived, they were gone. For a time, Klink only sat at his desk, staring sightlessly at the pistol there and trying to decide if the whole conversation he’d just had with them had actually happened. Considering his hand was still throbbing from when he’d slammed it down on the desk, it seemed at least _some_ of it had. To be frank, the whole thing had been so surreal that, had it not been for that pain, he’d be quite willing to believe he’d simply had a very vivid dream.

Or was it nightmare?

What still had him reeling more than anything else was the fact Hogan had known. Ever since that escape attempt, Hogan had known what he and Adler were doing. Hogan had known what he’d been letting that monster do to him. And … and he hadn’t been disgusted with him? And he still wanted to save his life? It was stunning.

Although, now that he was thinking more clearly about it, maybe it wasn’t _so_ amazing. After all, Hogan was an excellent actor, and he had said himself that his main—only?—interest in his welfare was that his death would be ‘inconvenient.’ Maybe it didn’t matter to Hogan that the man he was trying to save was a deviant pervert in light of that. Klink only wished he knew _why_ the American found his continued presence here so useful—then he’d be able to understand what Hogan was trying so hard to preserve by keeping him alive.

He brought his hand up and pressed it to his forehead. It didn’t really matter what Hogan’s reasons were, and he’d never get the answer out of him anyway. No, what mattered now was that promise he’d made—the one he actually remembered making. At best, it meant another night of enduring Adler’s attentions before being betrayed by his body. At worst... His hand slid down to his still tender throat.

Adler had been furious—furious beyond reason—when Klink had foiled his plans to have him transferred to Berlin. That almost mindless anger had been terrifying: General Adler had been out of control. From his limited experience with the man, Klink thought it was fair to say that he was safer with the cold, calculating version. When he’d refused to hand over a prisoner, he’d seen a hint of that madness again.

What if … what if tonight, when Klink refused his demand once more, Adler lost control? What if he held on too long or hit him too hard? What if he just decided that Klink was too much trouble and shot him?

Klink closed his eyes and allowed himself to slump in the chair. As much as he wanted this to end, that was _not_ the ending he had in mind. He didn’t want to be murdered. He didn’t want to die because Adler had had a tantrum. If he had to die, he wanted his death to mean something!

It was foolish to wait. And, if he’d only made that promise to shut the American up and send him on his way, Klink wouldn’t be waiting. He’d be doing what he’d planned to do with a clear conscience: a promise he’d been badgered into making wasn’t one he felt much obligation to keep.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he’d been thinking at the time. Hogan had, in so many words, called him a liar, and Klink had wanted to prove he wasn’t. Exactly who he’d wanted to convince, he wasn’t certain. While feeling like he had to prove it to the American was galling, the idea that he’d had to prove to _himself_ that he actually wanted to live...

That wasn’t something he wanted to think too deeply about. Unfortunately, that left him with the problem of wanting to prove _anything_ to Hogan. The man thought he was stupid—at the very least, he thought Klink was gullible enough to fall for blatant lies. And, of course, there was also the fact that Hogan, like Adler, merely wanted to keep him close by to be used. Why on earth should Klink want to prove anything to a man who thought so little of him?

Klink was afraid of what the answer to _that_ question might be. He didn’t know how he felt about Hogan anymore. He’d learned too much about how Hogan saw him and too much about himself to be sure. But he did know how he’d used the Senior POW … and that he’d enjoyed it.

He brought his hands up to cover his face. Damn it, he couldn’t do this now! He was in no condition to sort out what was going on in his deranged mind when it came to his sick fascination with the American. Later, if there was a later for him, he could sort it out. Or, maybe, he could just put the idea out of his mind and pretend that he’d never thought it. Yes, that would be best.

Klink let out the breath he’d been holding and reached for the Luger. He held it in his hand, the weight of it filling his mind with temptation. It would be so easy. It would be so quick. It would be over, as easily and as quickly as that.

His hand shook as he placed the Luger into the ruined drawer.

* * *

When Klink finally persuaded himself to venture outside, it was already around noon. He knew this because he’d glanced at a clock before he’d left. If he hadn’t done that, there would have been no way to tell from simply looking up at the sky: marbled white and gray clouds kept the position of the sun a mystery. He stared up thoughtfully. Maybe soon there would be more snow to join what was already on the grounds.

While a lot of snow would be difficult to clear from all the roads within the Stalag, he thought he wouldn’t mind a little snow. Just a dusting would be enough to make this mild January feel like winter again. Of course, it wouldn’t be bad if it were a few inches either: it would do the prisoners good to get some exercise—he’d noticed last week at Roll Call that they’d been restless. Some honest work would take the fight out of them...

He shook his head, feeling almost amused. Here he was, unlikely to live past tomorrow, and he was thinking about whether or not it would snow _as though it mattered_. Admittedly, it was nice to have a thought that didn’t, in some way, revolve around Adler or Hogan or how disturbing his life had become, but he wondered a bit about his priorities. There was a reason he’d come out here, after all. He certainly didn’t have time to stand in the doorway, staring at the clouds, and daydreaming about snow. 

Colonel Hogan’s unexpected and unwelcome visit had impressed upon Klink something extremely important that his paranoia had made him forget the last couple of days. Even though he _felt_ that his guards—his staff, his countrymen, his comrades—wanted to do what Adler had done, he _knew_ that it was foolishness. He _knew_ that he had nothing to fear from his subordinates. However, the same could _not_ be said for the Allied prisoners he kept here. Many of them hated him outright, and, considering how easily Hogan and his Sergeant had overpowered him, he’d been very lucky that all Hogan had wanted to do was make him talk. He doubted the other prisoners would have such humanitarian motives in mind.

Hogan could have done _anything_. Klink doubted he would have been able to resist Hogan alone long enough to call for help (and who would he have called out to anyway with even Hilda gone?)—there was no way he could have fought the two of them. He _had_ fought them, and it hadn’t been enough. The fact of the matter was, even after he’d been let off the floor, the Americans had still had him pinned.

Never again. Klink wasn’t going to take the chance of being caught unawares so easily again. If that meant he was going to have to deal with some personal discomfort at the presence of at least one guard in his office, so be it. He would just have to overcome his paranoia because he refused to be defenseless again.

_Well,_ he corrected ruefully, _I’m not going to be defenseless against a_ prisoner _again._ Adler was a problem that no number of guards would fix unless he’d like to visit the Gestapo torture chambers...

He frowned. It was strange how little the idea scared him anymore. Klink didn’t _want_ to be tortured, but comparing it to what Adler had put him through, the idea didn’t make his knees feel weak. At least what the Gestapo would do to him wouldn’t make him feel like a disgusting pervert.

Klink shook his head sharply. It did no good to second guess himself. Maybe he’d made the wrong decision, but he’d made the decision he’d made, and it was far too late to change his mind about it now. Now, he had to focus on the task at hand! What he needed was a guard. He prepared to go down the stairs but stopped as his eyes lit on Corporal Langenscheidt. The Corporal was standing beside the steps, staring blankly out at the barracks while his rifle hung loosely at his side.

Watching him for a minute, Klink determined that Langenscheidt was in no hurry to leave his spot. Strange but this camp was nothing if not that. He started down the steps before stopping again. Then again, wasn’t it awfully suspicious? Why in the world would the man just be standing there—that wasn’t a place where guards were usually stationed. Already, his imagination was supplying a wide variety of sordid purposes for the Corporal’s presence, but Klink did his best to ignore them. He had no choice.

Still, he found himself reluctant to get any closer. With a sigh, he decided to compromise, for now. “Corporal Langenscheidt,” Klink called, pleased to note that his voice was not shaking. Unlike his hands, which he put in his pockets

The Corporal turned and snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

First things first, of course. While, technically speaking, Klink could assign his staff wherever he pleased, they usually had reasons to be where they were. It was best to find out if this was the case in this instance as well. “What are you doing out here?”

Confusion tinged his expression, as though he was uncertain about the answer himself. “Sergeant Schultz posted me here about an hour ago, sir.”

Klink nodded, recalling Schultz’s suggestion to station a guard in the office. It seemed that he hadn’t been giving the fat Sergeant enough credit—he would not have expected Schultz, of all people, to have found a loophole in the rather straightforward refusal. “I see.” He considered leaving it at that. Having someone guard the door to the building itself would be basically the same as having a guard in his office, wouldn’t it?

Except … except he’d seen for himself how attentive the young man was standing out here. If someone managed to get by him, Klink would be in the exact situation he wanted to protect himself from. No, he would simply have to put his paranoia aside. “I want you to stand guard inside my office.” 

Langenscheidt’s bewilderment was almost comical. “Yes, sir.” He saluted.

Klink returned it before forcing himself to turn his back on the Corporal so he could go back inside. He fancied that he could feel the other man not only catching up to him but getting closer, closer than what was acceptable. With a considerable effort of will, he didn’t allow himself to turn to see if this was actually so. He knew it wasn’t, even if his heart, busily trying to escape his ribcage, didn’t.

Once they were both in his office, he turned to face the Corporal. “I don’t wish to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency.” Then, recalling how angry Adler would be if _he_ were kept waiting for any length of time, he amended his order. “Or unless General Adler wants to see me. Understood?”

Though Langenscheidt was obviously bemused by this turn of events, he kept whatever questions he had to himself. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged with another salute.

Klink returned it, fighting the urge to back away. It was one thing to know that this young man was not a danger to him; it was another to actually believe it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t believe it. Not even for a moment.

He hadn’t run into his quarters, but he had shut the door too hard. Klink closed his eyes, slumping slightly as he relaxed. While the shut door wasn’t much protection without a lock, he could feel himself becoming calmer, the shortness of breath he’d been too panicked to notice before returning to normal.

He leaned against the wood, wrapping his arms around himself. He wondered with self-loathing if there would ever come a time when he could stand next to a man for a few minutes without feeling like a rat trapped in a cage. When would he stop being such a foolish coward?

“Ahh!”

Klink froze. The yell could only have come from the Corporal. Concern battled with new terror, and he swallowed hard. His hand shook as he grasped the doorknob. When he finally brought himself to open the door, he saw a red-faced Langenscheidt picking up something. A familiar wooden box.

“What happened?”

Langenscheidt’s head snapped u,p and he almost dropped what he was holding. “Ah, sir.” His red-face managed to become redder. “I, ah, I tripped on this.”

Klink almost laughed in relief. So, that was all. It said something about the measure of relief he felt that he actually walked over to where the Corporal stood to get a better look. “Give me that.”

Langenscheidt handed the cigar box over with an embarrassed “Here, sir.”

The cigar box had seen better days. Klink examined it with a critical eye and decided that it hadn’t been made for such rough treatment. Considering the tumbles the thing had taken, it was amazing it was still in more or less one piece. Sure the lid was only held on with one hinge, and there was a crack along the bottom, but he thought it could be fixed as long as he didn’t damage it further. Much like himself, if he cared to make the comparison.

He set the box on the desk, and his eyes lit on the prybar. He should probably have Langenscheidt return it to the mess—it had already served its purpose. Wrapping his fingers around its middle, he lifted the bar up from where it lay. He’d planned to turn and hand it to the Corporal, but he found his grip tighten around it as unpleasant thoughts began to roil in his brain.

The length of iron was still cool and heavy, but the power he’d felt earlier was gone. The future was out of his hands; he’d lost control of it. The fact that he’d given up that control willingly was no comfort to him. It merely meant that he was easy to manipulate. That Hogan, a man who thought as little of him as Adler did, was able to manipulate him with so little effort, it was maddening.

Klink felt his rage building, frustrated by his own stupidity. Hogan was right to think he was stupid. He was a fool. Adler played him for a fool as well, preying on his fears to get him to agree to become something less than the man he’d thought he was. And what a man he was! A stupid puppet! A simpering little fool. And to think for a moment, for a moment!, that he’d be able to control his own fate, he was an even bigger fool. Why was he so weak? Why was he so easily manipulated? Why was he such a damn fool!

He thought he heard a scream of anguished frustration. He heard a crashing thud at the impact. He felt the vibration traveling through the iron. His hands hurt. He heard something fall to the floor. His eyes were closed. His throat was sore.

The silence was deafening.

Klink opened his eyes and stared down at the damage he’d done with horror. The prybar dropped heavily from suddenly nerveless hands. Did he really have so little control over himself? Was he really as far gone as this? He felt himself start to shake.

“Sir?” a concerned, frightened voice behind him asked.

He turned his back on the shattered cigar box to face the owner of the voice.

Corporal Langenscheidt was pale, and he stared at Klink as though afraid that his commander had gone insane.

Klink wasn’t certain he’d be wrong to think so. What he’d just done … that wasn’t something a sane person would do. More importantly, that wasn’t something _he_ would do. At least, he never would have done it a week ago. At least, he _thought_ he wouldn’t have. Considering how wrong he’d been about other things, maybe he’d been wrong about that, too.

He felt the familiar rage building, but his horror over his latest act of madness was enough to stamp it back down. He’d done enough damage for one afternoon. Shaking his head, he regarded the frightened Corporal with what he hoped was a nonthreatening smile. Judging from the young man’s unchanging expression, Klink’s effort had been wasted.

What did he say? Did he try to explain this or did he act like it hadn’t happened? How could he possibly explain this? He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. “I … I’d like you to take that prybar back to Corporal Jung in the mess.” Klink didn’t trust himself with the task. Even if he trusted himself, taking into account what had just happened, Langenscheidt would have to be crazy to let him out the door armed with that thing. “Then I’d like you to come back here until it’s time for you to be relieved. Understood?”

Langenscheidt nodded slowly, still in some shock. “Y-yes, sir. Right-right away, sir.” His salute was not quite as sharp as normal, almost sluggish.

Klink returned it without comment.

Hesitantly, the Corporal approached Klink, obviously worried about whether or not _he’d_ be the next target of his commander’s insanity. Once he’d gotten a hold of the prybar, he seemed relieved to be getting out of Klink’s reach, and then out of his presence.

He watched the young man go with regret. About the only thing he could say he was grateful for in that little episode was that he hadn’t been facing the Corporal when he’d lost control of himself. Langenscheidt would not have expected it, and he would have gotten hurt. Maybe, depending on where Klink hit, even killed. As it was...

Klink turned back to his desk. He stared down at the remains of the cigar box and shook his head. There’d be no fixing it now. Perhaps that was true of him as well. Carefully, he picked up the pieces and deposited them in the trash bin. The undamaged cigars were placed in the top drawer. When he’d hit the box, he’d knocked the lamp to the floor. He picked it up and was pleased to find that it still worked.

Once he was done cleaning up, he waited for Langenscheidt to return. While he doubted Langenscheidt would be happy to see him after that display (if he came back at all), his paranoia wouldn’t allow him to leave until he saw he being was guarded again. He was dismayed, but not especially surprised, when the Corporal returned with Sergeant Schultz in tow. In the Corporal’s place, he wouldn’t want to be left alone with him right now either.

Klink forced himself to smile. “Sergeant Schultz. What are you doing here?”

Schultz saluted. “Corporal Langenscheidt informed me that you reassigned him here. I was just seeing if that was true.”

It was a lie, but one that Klink wasn’t interested in contesting. “Yes, I reconsidered your suggestion of having a guard in the office.”

Schultz looked surprised. “What made you change your mind, sir?”

He bit his lip, unsure of what to say. Maybe a bit of honesty would work for once. “Colonel Hogan paid me a visit after you left. He … he was very annoying but very hard to get rid of without assistance.”

This actually elicited a chuckle from the fat Sergeant. “I see, sir.”

Klink’s lips turned upward of their own accord. “I’m going to my quarters. I’m not to be disturbed unless there is an emergency or if General Adler wants to see me.”

Both men saluted. “Yes, sir.”

With an effort, Klink made measured progress into his quarters and shut the door softly behind him. There was mumbling coming from the other side. He debated pressing an ear to the door to hear what they were saying before deciding against it. He already knew what they were saying: their commander didn’t have all of his cups in the cupboard anymore.

Klink wished he could disagree with that assessment.


	42. Lowering a Rope

Hogan lay down on his bunk, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring up at nothing in particular as he tried to relax. Tonight, he’d be meeting with the leader of the Simeons to see if they’d be willing to get involved in this venture. If not... If not, Adler would be receiving a very important call in the morning from ‘Berlin’ telling him to report back immediately.

Temporary solutions to serious problems seldom did much more than make the problem more complicated in the long run. However, it would buy him the time he’d need to get someone else or to come up with something better. And it would keep Klink from using his very permanent solution to the problem. He hoped.

London had been contacted as well, but of course, it was far too early to hear anything from them. They’d said they wanted Adler, and if everything went to plan, they’d have him very soon. Hogan would just have to make certain that, whatever London decided to do with Adler, they didn’t send him back to Germany until _after_ the war. He couldn’t be sure if London would be happy with that arrangement, but he couldn’t risk the General returning to Germany while he still had power. Then he’d be back at square one.

Newkirk, who was amazingly adept at avoiding being alone with his commander long enough for Hogan to broach the volunteer subject, was busy with cleaning and patching the uniforms they would need for this little project. Assuming the Simeons were on board, they’d be fitted for them tomorrow. Newkirk had assured him that it “won’t take more than a minute!”, and Hogan had come to trust his expertise. LeBeau and Carter were also helping him, which was part of the reason it was so hard to catch him alone.

Of course, all of these preparations would come to naught if they didn’t find out where Adler planned to go. Since Kinch was busy making discreet inquiries, Baker was monitoring the outgoing calls. After all, Adler would need some place fairly out of the way to do what Klink said he wanted to do. Arrangements would have to be made. And, if they’d already been made, they would still have to be confirmed. He hoped.

There was a lot more ‘hope’ involved in this current scheme than Hogan was comfortable with, but there was nothing he could do now but hope and wait. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have plenty to think about!

Hogan couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the opportunity to think over the day’s semi-disastrous meeting with the Commandant or not. It could have gone worse. While this was a fact, ‘it could have gone worse’ was far from praise.

They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, literally. Generally speaking, knocking down the person you want to talk to isn’t the best way to open negotiations. Pinning the Commandant to the floor, while unavoidable at the time, had also been unfortunate. And a bit alarming as well.

Hogan wouldn’t have thought that Klink had it in him to struggle like that—if it hadn’t been for Kinch, he probably would have lost hold of the man. As terrified as he’d seen Klink be towards him, he’d never seen him completely out of his mind. He’d been afraid himself then, afraid that he’d caused the Commandant permanent damage by holding him down.

And then there was what Klink had said. At the time, Hogan had been more concerned with getting something sensible out of the Commandant than worrying about the craziness he was saying. Now, however, he found himself wondering just what Klink had meant. What exactly had he been asking, begging, Hogan not to do?

“Not like this,” Hogan said quietly, recalling the words which made every theory completely nonsensical. Don’t pin me? Don’t hurt me? Don’t shout at me? Was there some context where Klink _wouldn’t_ care Hogan was doing any of those things? It just didn’t make sense.

There had to be something which Klink hadn’t wanted Hogan to do while he was pinned to the floor that he wouldn’t necessarily mind he do in different circumstances. Either that, or Klink had been talking crazy. The latter seemed more likely than the former, all things considered.

Another thing which had bothered Hogan was the painkillers Klink had claimed needing to take in order to walk. Where had he gotten them? He hadn’t left camp since this business with Adler had started. While it was possible that the Commandant had a store of them for one reason or another, it seemed unlikely—from what he understood, Eukadol was practically morphine! Not the sort of thing a Stalag Commandant was likely to need.

Of course, there was also the fact that Klink needed them so badly now. Contrary to what Klink believed, he _would_ be alive long enough for whatever injuries he’d gotten to matter. Hogan was not an expert on such things, but he was smart enough to know that Klink wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital for a sodomy related injury no matter how bad it was.

As for finding out whether or not he was truly so badly off, well, Hogan doubted he’d get the Commandant to agree to an examination, assuming he found someone to do it. Sergeant Wilson might be willing to do the job, but he wasn’t a doctor—if there was something seriously wrong with Klink, emergency medicine probably wouldn’t be enough.

But there was no point in worrying too much about _that_ until Adler was out of the equation. 

He had something more immediate to worry about: he had to come up with something to tell Klink. Something reasonable, and something not beyond what powers Hogan should have as a prisoner. It would have to be fairly compelling to get Klink to agree to send one of the prisoners out with Adler considering how horrified he’d seemed by the idea. 

Coming up with said idea was turning out to be more difficult than he’d expected.

The sound of the door opening distracted him from the problem. He was just as happy for it. “Come in!” he called as he sat up.

A moment later, Corporal Langenscheidt was inside his office. “Colonel Hogan,” he greeted.

Hogan stood. “And what can I do for you on this fine day, Corporal?”

“Colonel Klink sent for you.”

Now, that was strange. “Did he say what about?” he asked as he put on his coat.

Langenscheidt shook his head. “No, sir. Only that he wanted to see you.”

When Hogan had made the offer of company to Klink, he had not expected the man to take him up on it—not with the way he was so jumpy around him lately. So, the fact that Klink wanted to see him for no particular reason was quite a surprise.

On the trip to the office building, Hogan couldn’t help but notice how troubled the younger man looked. Once they were in Klink’s office and it turned out that Klink was not there, Hogan decided to try finding out why. While it would probably be too big a coincidence that whatever troubles Langenscheidt was having would be related to the Commandant, there was no harm in finding out one way or the other.

“Why so glum, Langenscheidt?”

Langenscheidt stopped short, the hand reaching out for the doorknob to Klink’s quarters falling back to his side. “I am not sure this is a good idea.” He spoke quietly, as though afraid of being overheard. “The Kommandant … he is not himself.”

“Is that right?” Hogan asked, shooting for his conversationally disinterested tone. It was a challenge, but he thought he’d managed it. What had Klink done now? “How so?”

The young guard’s brow furrowed in indecision before he turned to face Hogan head on. “He lost his temper today. I don’t know why, but he took a prybar and destroyed a box on his desk.” He pointed at a large ding on the desk top that Hogan hadn’t noticed. “That is where he did it.” Shaking his head, he half-smiled. “I was afraid he would come after _me_ next!” The smile was replaced with a troubled frown. “Sergeant Schultz told me not to worry, but he looked very worried when I told him about it.”

That was indeed worrying. Generally speaking, Klink tended to be vocal when he lost his temper—not physically violent. Then again, he’d seen some of that earlier this afternoon, when Klink had slammed his hand on the desk top. It was just more evidence of what Hogan had already known: Klink was becoming unhinged.

He hoped that, if— _when_ he was able to take care of the Adler problem, there would be some of the original Klink left to salvage.

“I do not know if I should trust him alone with you.”

Hogan blinked, frankly surprised by this concern. He wondered what the German would say if he told the man that Klink had already pointed a gun at him. “I’m not worried,” he said airily. “I know how to handle the Iron Eagle.”

Langenscheidt sighed. “For your sake, I hope you are right.”

Klink was seated at the table when Hogan and Langenscheidt arrived in his quarters, his hands laced together and his gaze fixed on the table.

“I have brought the prisoner as you have requested, sir,” the Corporal said with a salute.

The start of surprise from the pronouncement was followed by an embarrassed smile and a nervous return salute. “Good.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he added, “You can return to your post.”

Langenscheidt hesitated before nodding and saluting. “Yes, sir.” He backed away from them, clearly still worried about leaving Hogan alone with Klink but not willing to disobey orders, watching them until the office door shut behind him.

Once they were alone, Klink returned his gaze to the table. “Please sit down, Hogan.”

Hogan chose the seat across from the Commandant and did so. “You wanted to see me, sir?” He injected a smile into his tone. “It’s a bit too early for a progress report.”

Klink shook his head. “I didn’t expect anything so soon.” His eyes flicked up to look at Hogan before he looked away. Hogan waited for him to say something while the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. The other man seemed content to merely send cautious glances his way every few seconds. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable in his presence. So, _why_ had the Commandant dragged him out here?

Finally, his patience for Klink’s skittishness ran out. “Then what’s this about?”

For a moment, Hogan thought Klink hadn’t heard him. Then, he looked up, avoiding Hogan’s eyes. “If— _when_ you _do_ come up with something...” he trailed off, uncomfortable, before rallying himself again. “What do you want in return?”

That was honestly something Hogan had not spent much time thinking about. Come to think of it, he still hadn’t received the wallpaper from the _first_ task he’d done for him. It didn’t seem like the right time to bring this fact up. Besides, it wasn’t as though he needed it anymore. “What do I want in return?” If his plan worked the way he hoped it would, Klink should think that he owed Hogan nothing. So, asking for something specific seemed like a bad idea. However, right now, Klink had reason to expect Hogan would want repayment. “I guess that depends on you, sir.”

The Commandant’s face went pale. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Now what was he worried about? “It’s nothing to get worried about,” he assured Klink, who now seemed on the verge of a panic attack. “I just think it should be up to you. Tell me what you think is fair.”

Klink’s relief was palpable before being replaced by annoyance. “Hogan, I don’t know what you’re planning to do—how would I know what’s fair?”

Hogan shrugged. “Then this conversation can wait until I come up with something.” Not in the mood to deal with another protracted silence, he stood. It’d be one thing if Klink wanted to talk. Being alternately stared at and ignored wasn’t what he’d volunteered for. “Is there anything else, Commandant? Because it _is_ poker night.”

“Wait!” The word was almost a shout. Almost desperate.

Hogan stopped moving, surprised. Klink didn’t want him to leave?

Flushing slightly, Klink answered Hogan’s unasked question in a quieter tone. “Please stay.” 

“Okay, sir,” Hogan agreed easily, hiding his uncertainty under superficial cheer. “I’m supposed to be saving up my coffee rations anyway.” When his comment got nothing more than a blank stare, he retook his seat and waited for the other man to say whatever it was he had on his mind.

It took a long time for Klink to collect his thoughts. He looked uncomfortable, and he fidgeted under Hogan’s scrutiny. Finally, he shook his head. “I … I don’t know if I can do it, Hogan.”

There was an apology and a plea in there, but Hogan didn’t have enough information yet to address either. “What are you talking about?”

Klink bowed his head. “He’s going to be very angry with me. He’s _already_ angry with me for telling General Burkhalter that I don’t want a transfer.” He was shaking visibly now, and his voice was so low that Hogan had to strain to hear him. “I-I don’t know if I can do it.”

There was no need to ask who ‘he’ was. The ‘it’ was also easy to figure out. Together, they signaled that this conversation was going to become more complicated than expected. With an effort, Hogan kept his tone cool. “You have to _try_ , sir.”

Silence. Klink’s fingers were laced so tightly it had to hurt, but he didn’t seem to notice what he was doing to himself. “I … I’m afraid.” A bitter bark of laughter. “I’m terrified.”

The loathing and shame in the confession kept Hogan’s impatience in check. Klink obviously felt low enough as it was without a lecture. Support. He needed some support. “I know, sir,” he said gently, “but you just have to push through it.” When this didn’t seem to be enough, he tried again. “I know this is hard for you, but I need you to hold it together for a little longer.”

Klink brought his head up slowly, suspicious. “How _much_ longer?”

Hogan frowned, pretending to think. While he hadn’t actually made contact with the Seven Simeons yet, the intermediary he’d spoken with seemed confident that they would agree. Still, time was needed to make sure that that was the case, to get everything into position, and to make the necessary preparations. “I don’t have all the details together yet, but I’ll need a couple days, if possible.”

Even Klink looked surprised when he started laughing. “A couple days?” He stopped with an expression that might have been a grin if it weren’t so angry. “Do you think it’s _easy_ to say ‘no’ to that swine?” His eyes narrowed, and he seemed almost disgusted. “For you to sit there and tell me to hold on as though it’s the simplest thing in the world when I—” He took a shuddering breath, and his face crumpled in sudden despair. “I’m so tired; I’m slipping. Can’t you see it?”

Unfortunately, Hogan could see it very well. He could also see that, unless he could convince the Commandant otherwise, the man was going to give up. “Sir—Klink, listen to me—”

Klink shook his head, clearly not in the mood to follow directions. “Tonight, tomorrow night. What difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference!” Hogan saw Klink flinch and adjusted his tone. There had to be more to this sudden break down than a case of cold feet. “What’s the problem?

Klink shuddered. “Adler... You don’t know what he’s like, Hogan. He-He’s going to hurt me.”

From everything Hogan had heard, this wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Still, after all the man had been through already, wanting to end his life just so he wouldn’t risk another beating… It didn’t make any sense at all. Remembering what Klink had said in their last conversation, it was nothing short of bizarre that _this_ was what had him so terrified now.

Hogan offered Klink a smile even though he wasn’t looking up to see it. “You said it yourself, sir: he wants to keep you around. He’s not going to do something that will do any serious damage.”

Klink shook his head, unwilling to be comforted. “He will,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands. “He will. I know it. He’ll lose his temper, and h-he won’t stop in time. And, and that will be it.” He sounded close to tears. “I … I want my death to _matter_ , Hogan.”

The words felt like a blow to the gut. Even before Hogan had a chance to fully process his reaction, he found himself countering the bleak statement with one of his own. “You should want your _life_ to matter, Klink.”

When the Commandant lowered his hands, a wry smile was twisting his mouth. “Naïve. You are so naïve.” A sort of half-chuckle. “I never thought I would be able to say that about _you_.”

It certainly was a strange experience to be called naïve by someone he’d so often fooled, but now wasn’t the time to examine it. With every word Klink spoke, it was becoming more and more obvious that he was about to renege on his promise. That was something Hogan couldn’t let him do without a fight. “Sir—”

“He’s going to kill me!” Klink interrupted, desperate. “I don’t want to wait for him to kill me. Isn’t it better to … to end it myself?” His hands formed into tight fists. “I don’t want to be murdered.”

“You’re dead either way,” Hogan argued, trying to contain his frustration. For a man who wanted to live so badly, Klink was awfully eager to throw his life away! “At least if you work with me, there’s a chance.”

Klink frowned. “A chance.” He pushed out of his chair and stood, turning away from his guest. “You want me to risk everything on a _chance_?”

With how nervous the Commandant was around him, Hogan decided that it would be best to keep his seat. “I want you to live.” When this received no response besides the stiffening of Klink’s shoulders, he allowed himself a sigh. “Even if you doubt my motives, you should still agree with the goal.”

He bowed his head. “If all I was concerned with was keeping alive, Hogan, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be driving you and General Adler off to wherever he picked so he could _interrogate_ you. He asked for you specifically, you know?”

“Me?” Maybe he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was—Hotchstetter was Gestapo and seemed to consider Hogan his own personal hobby, so why wouldn’t Adler have heard something about him prior to coming here? Still, it was surprising that Adler would want him in particular.

Klink nodded curtly, looking faintly ill. “He said that he’d read reports about you. He said that you were a … fascinating individual.”

For a second, Hogan wasn’t sure whether he should be disgusted or flattered. Considering who and what were involved, he settled on disturbed. “Then what _are_ you concerned with, sir? If you’re not concerned with staying alive?” he asked, figuring it was time to get back on track.

The moment stretched, and Hogan was starting to think he wouldn’t answer when Klink shook his head. “I have lost my taste for games,” he said at last, sounding tired and at the end of his patience. “I do not wish to be used anymore. Not by Adler, and not by you.” He turned, his expression matching his tone. “What do _you_ use me for anyway, Hogan? How do you use me? Can’t you at least tell me that?”

It wasn’t Hogan’s habit to be honest with this man, and the last time he’d tried it, he’d ended up lying to both Klink and himself. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything he could say now which could make any of this worse: that ship was already sailing off into the sunset. “I know you. I know what to say to get you to say yes, and I know what to say to get you to say no. I know how to get you to overlook things. I know how to make you pull the wool over your own eyes. That’s very useful to me.”

Klink’s mouth hung open, and it seemed as though he couldn’t decide whether to be shocked, insulted, or angry.

Hogan pressed on before he had a chance to choose. “And I take advantage of the fact that you’re not a complete monster. I can trust you won’t break out the firing squad and execute us on a whim. You can’t say that about every Stalag Commandant. I’d like to get my men through this war—having you here helps me do that.” He smiled. “And even if the sawdust to bread ratio is a little too high for my tastes, at least we always have _something_ to burn in the stove!”

Not even an eye-roll for the culinary critique. “And that’s why you want to keep me around?”

It would be so easy to say ‘yes.’ That was what Klink was expecting. That was what Klink would believe. And, before all this had started, Hogan would have had no qualms calling this the truth of the matter. But … it simply wasn’t true anymore. In some ways, he wished it was—it would be so much easier then! But then, if this was about what was easiest, he wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now.

He considered his answer carefully. “No.”

Klink looked surprised. “No? Then why?” A flicker of anger passed over his face before being replaced by weariness. “And please don’t tell me that nonsense about _missing_ me. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

“I know it’s difficult for you to believe—and that’s all my fault—but it’s true.” Hogan looked down for a moment. “I _would_ miss you. And, if you won’t believe that, maybe you’ll believe when I tell you I can’t use you anymore.”

“What are you talking about? You just said—”

“I know what I said,” Hogan interrupted without heat. “I’m telling you that I can’t use you like that now.” He allowed himself a short laugh. “I can’t predict what you’ll do anymore. The other day, do you think I would have kept pressing if I thought you’d actually point a _gun_ at me?”

Klink was unimpressed. “You knew I wouldn’t fire it.”

“That’s not the point—you could have killed me then just as easily by accident as by design.” He shook his head. “If I can’t predict what your reaction will be, I can’t use you. In fact, right now, you’re dangerous! That’s why I pinned you when I saw that gun—I couldn’t take the chance that you would decide to get me out of the picture the easy way.”

The German looked sickened as he retook his seat. “I would not have shot you, Hogan. I’m not a murderer.”

“I believe you believe that,” Hogan said gently, “but when you’re struggling with whatever it is you’re so afraid of, well, you don’t exactly have a whole lot of control over yourself.”

For whatever reason, this statement brought tears to Klink’s eyes. “You think I don’t know that?” He turned his gaze down to the table top, rummaging in his pocket to get his handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he took out his monocle and started wiping his cheeks. “I can’t make myself stop doing this.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Hogan sighed. “It’s my fault too; I’m not much good at knowing when to back off these days.”

This earned him a teary snort. “As though you ever ‘back off’ until you get what you want.”

Hogan pretended he didn’t hear the comment. “But do you see what I’m up against now, sir? I can’t predict how you’ll react to me, so I can’t use you.” He shrugged. “That and it’s hard to con someone who can barely even stand having you in the same room.”

For a long moment, Klink merely continued to wipe. Finally, he took a deep breath and put his monocle back in. “I think … I think I understand now.” His frown was thoughtful. “You want to help me so I can become predictable and useful again.” He chuckled softly, sadly. “I- I think I could accept that, but … I don’t think I could ever be that man again. Not after this. I … I’ve learned too much about myself to go back to that.”

Hogan wondered what exactly the Commandant had learned that was so terrible. He wouldn’t look so sad if it had been something positive. However, as bad as he was at reading the new Klink, he had a feeling that asking would not get him an answer. This conversation was coming dangerously close to going back to square one, and he needed to give Klink a reason to wait.

“I don’t believe that,” he said at last. “I don’t know what you think you’ve learned, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still Wilhelm Klink.”

Harsh laughter. “Wilhelm Klink was an idiot,” Klink exclaimed, his grin angry. “He was a fool! He let that—” he broke off, his furious levity leaving him. When he spoke again, he seemed very small. “ _I_ let that swine use me, and for what? For this?” He gestured around himself, his hand shaking. “I’d thought that Adler’s … that this thing with Adler had made me nothing, but I’ve realized that I was nothing to _start_ with.”

His lips twisted into something too broken to be a smile. “I … I was so caught up in myself; I had no sense of reality.” His arms came to wrap around his middle. “I’m on my own here—not because of Adler. I’ve always been alone here. I-I’m all alone here.” He was crying again, but this time, he didn’t seem to notice it. “I was so lonely that I, I pretended, that I let myself believe that an enemy was a friend.” His laugh was bitter. “I forgot so thoroughly what a real friend is that I—that I considered _you_ one. What kind of life is that? Is that what I, what I paid so much to keep?” 

Hogan’s mouth was dry. In the face of all this raw emotion, he had no idea what to say, what his reaction should be. What he was coming up with sounded hollow and trite to his ears. Worse still, he suddenly realized why the Commandant had been so hurt and why he’d continued to be so bitter about Hogan’s claim that he only wanted to keep Klink around for convenience’s sake. He’d known that Klink had some kind of fondness for him—he’d used that fondness from time to time—, but he hadn’t realized how deep it had been on Klink’s end. “I’m sorry, Klink.”

Klink flinched. “I don’t want your pity,” he said softly, without conviction. “I was just so stupid, I created something that, that wasn’t there, and now I’ve used—” he cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Used what? What had he been going to say? “I don’t hate you,” Hogan assured him. Then he closed his eyes as he went over his options. Taking some of the blame for this wouldn’t earn him any points as far as getting the Commandant to trust him was concerned. On the other hand, this belief Klink had was yet another obstacle to Hogan’s goal of keeping the man alive. If he didn’t take care of this now, it would only make his task more difficult in the long run. If he couldn’t keep Klink alive, trust was rather moot.

“I knew that you liked me, sir.” He smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. “I mean, who wouldn’t like me?” When this failed to get anything from the shattered German, he decided to get to the point. “I’ve used the fact that you like me to get what I wanted. I played to it. I, I fed into it a little.” He half-chuckled as he thought of it. “Some of the men here, they even think I’m _too_ friendly with you. It’s a bit of a tight-rope walk, to be honest, sir.” This was so much harder than making something up! “The fact that I’m here, that I’ve been trying so hard to ‘give comfort to the enemy’ … I think I might have fallen off the rope.”

Klink stared at him, his expression such a mix of emotions that it was unreadable. “You’re not my friend.” It was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question.

Hogan decided to answer anyway. “No. But I … I have come to like you. And I don’t want you to die.”

The Commandant closed his eyes for a long time, long enough for Hogan to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Then he opened them, still looking sad. “I want to believe that, Hogan.”

“Then believe it,” Hogan said simply.

“I don’t know if I should.” Klink stared down at his chest. “I’m so tired of being played with.”

Hogan considered it. “Reminds me of something you said to me once. ‘I’d rather be a live coward than a dead hero.’ Remember?”

Klink seemed confused, as though Hogan had said a complete non-sequitur. “I remember, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“You think I’m trying to fool you,” Hogan explained. “I’m not, but if I were, wouldn’t it be better to be deceived and alive than dead and alone?”

The other man stared. “I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into.” He shook his head. “Whether you like me or whether I believe it, it doesn’t matter, Hogan. Adler is going to kill me.”

And now they were back at the place where this conversation had gone off the rails. Hogan gave the matter some thought and came to a decision. If he didn’t have enough time to put the plan he was coming up with together, then he had no choice but to involve the Commandant—knowing Adler, if he got what he wanted, he would ignore a call from Berlin long enough to do what he planned. But, if it came to that … if it came to that, he would do what he had to. “If you think he’s going to kill you, then give in.”

Klink blinked furiously, his mouth hanging open. It took him several seconds to actually speak. “What?”

Hogan looked away as he chose his words. “I want you to live, sir. If he kills you, well, that nixes that plan.”

“You can’t honestly be saying you’d be willing to trade one of your men for me!” Klink wasn’t shouting, but he sounded moments away from doing so, his face twisted in horrified disbelief. “Even if you are, I won’t do it!”

“You wouldn’t be—you’d just be _saying_ you would,” Hogan countered with far more calmness than he actually felt. Once he said this, there would be no turning back. “There is something I could do if I had no time at all, but … but it could mean risking the lives of my men.” Before Klink could ask what that meant, he went on. “If I can get a couple days, it’ll be safer for them.” He held out his hand to the Commandant. “I need your help either way, but it won’t do much good if you’re not alive to give it.”

Klink looked from Hogan’s face to his hand and back again, mistrustful. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to trust me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he reconsidered. “Or if you can’t trust me, trust yourself.” He was glad to see Klink smile, even if it was only out of disbelief. “You’re stronger than you think, sir.”

“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klink replied, his tone softening the words into something more kindly than they would have been otherwise. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping as his head bowed. “Very well, Hogan. I will try to get through tonight. Tomorrow—”

“We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,” Hogan interrupted with firm confidence. 

Klink seemed less than reassured but offered no protest. He seemed to be coming to a decision. “Do you still have your cards?”

Hogan was surprised by the sudden change in subject. “Of course.” Then he frowned. “You want to play more ‘Go Fish’?”

A mock shudder of revulsion. “No. Would you be interested in a game of Gin?”

Hogan smiled. “Well, I’ve got nowhere I need to be for a while.”

The return smile was small but genuine. “Strangely enough, neither do I.”

* * *

Playing cards with the Commandant was not something that Hogan usually did. He preferred to play chess with him—chess was an easy game to lose believably if need be whereas card games (unless you happened to be Newkirk) were a matter of luck. Of course, there was skill involved, but it was fairly difficult to throw a card game without making it obvious you were doing so—especially if you happened to get good cards. Not wanting to damage the fragile truce he had with the Commandant by obviously letting him win, Hogan decided to risk winning when he had good hands.

Klink took losing with more grace than Hogan had expected. He’d smile and say “It’s just not my night,” as he handed his cards back to Hogan to be reshuffled. Even at the end, when he hadn’t won any of the hands they’d played, he seemed to be in fairly good spirits about it. Then again, perhaps the outcome of card games wasn’t high on the list of things he was worried about tonight.

He handed his latest losing hand to Hogan with a faint smile. “Maybe I should stick to chess.”

Hogan allowed himself a grin. “We can play that tomorrow, if you’re up to it.”

“Hogan,” Klink said, sounding like he couldn’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed, “even if I am still here tomorrow, I don’t think I’m going to be in any condition to play chess.”

Shrugging, Hogan put on his confident face. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine. It’ll work out—you’ll see.”

Klink’s skepticism was plain, and he seemed about to express it when the door to Klink’s quarters opened to reveal Sergeant Schultz. The fat guard seemed surprised to see Hogan, but he didn’t comment on his presence. Instead, he turned to Klink. “I have brought your dinner, Commandant,” he said, raising the plate he was holding slightly in lieu of a salute.

Was it that late already? Hogan gathered up his cards. “I think that’s my cue to leave,” he said lightly.

Nodding distractedly, Klink seemed to agree. “You’re dismissed, Colonel Hogan.”

Hogan saluted and turned heel without waiting for it to be returned. There were still a few things he had to check on before the leader of the Simeons dropped in, and he hadn’t expected to spend so much time playing cards! He only hoped, as he hurried back to his Barracks, that Klink would stick around long enough to play ball. If Klink decided to quit now...

There would be nothing he could do.


	43. Villainous Imagination

If Adler kept to his usual schedule, Klink figured he had about two hours left before the beast arrived. He sat at the table, drinking tea and forcing himself to eat some crackers so he could risk taking more Eukadol. It wasn’t going much better than dinner had—he had no appetite, and he couldn’t stand the feeling of damp crackers in his mouth as he worked to swallow them down. At least he didn’t have Schultz standing over him now, with worry in his eyes. Klink hadn’t managed more than a bite then … but how could he be expected to eat with the fattest Sergeant in the Luftwaffe gawking at him!

Not that he’d managed to eat anything more after he’d told said Sergeant to leave.

Which was why he was here now, trying to force-feed himself crackers so when it came time to drug himself, he wouldn’t overdose. While Klink was certain that tonight would be very painful in a variety of ways, he wasn’t interested in numbing himself up that completely. He wanted a certain amount of his wits about him, if possible.

After eating four crackers and feeling like he’d accomplished nothing more than to make himself nauseous, he pushed the small plate with the remainder away. If eating was just going to make him vomit, this whole exercise was extremely pointless. All he could do was hope that what he’d consumed had been enough. That decided, he picked the pill he’d set down on the table earlier up and stared down at it.

How could he take this? The things had come right out of Adler’s pocket for the express purpose of making him easier for Adler to, to sodomize. It was one thing to take them just so he could walk during the day, but, to take one now … he was doing exactly what that swine wanted. He would be complicit in his own violation. _Well_ , he reconsidered, tasting bile, _more so than I am already._

His hand clenched around the pill. But, if he didn’t take it... As much as he was loath to agree with Adler about anything, he knew that the monster was at least right about this much: it hurt more when he couldn’t relax. The first time, he hadn’t been relaxed by any stretch of the imagination but the second time … the second time had been much worse. He’d known what was coming and had simply been too terrified to relax even a little bit. Under the Eukadol, he hadn’t felt much of anything. And the morning after hadn’t been as bad as the times before.

Klink couldn’t allow himself to become seriously injured. Even if he wouldn’t be able to get out of this mess alive, for the sake of his own mobility, he had to be more careful. He was smart enough to realize that a painkiller wasn’t a treatment—it only covered up pain. If the injury was too great, it wouldn’t matter how many of the wretched things he forced down his throat.

And, if, by some miracle, Hogan actually came up with something, he didn’t want to make himself permanently lame or permanently dependent on pills, did he?

He swallowed the pill down quickly before he could change his mind. Even though it was too soon to feel an effect, he felt some of the ever-present tension drain away. He refilled his tea cup and leaned back in the chair, ignoring the complaint along his spine.

There was still so much about all this—Adler, Hogan, all of it—that he still didn’t understand. He didn’t even know where to start to sort through it all! Did he start with the old questions of why Adler had chosen him to do this to in the first place? He still couldn’t figure that out. Or maybe he could skip to the part where it turned out that he was a sexual pervert—he certainly hadn’t seen _that_ coming! 

As shallow as it was, before all this had started, the most he’d wanted from life was to make General and to take home the occasional bar maid. Now, it seemed that he should have been chasing after the bus boys instead. Maybe he would have had more luck.

Klink still couldn’t understand how he could possibly have not noticed this before. He didn’t pretend to know much about homosexuals—prior to Adler’s unwelcome presence in his love life, he hadn’t cared enough to give the matter much thought—but he had the firm impression that this sort of … fetish? didn’t just suddenly crop up overnight. He found it very unfair that there hadn’t been some earlier signs to warn him that his tastes were quite so abnormal.

Because there hadn’t been any. Not any. Before this mess with Adler, he hadn’t had any inkling of an idea that he was deviant. His past affairs had all been very normal—he and a woman together in the conventional way. He couldn’t remember ever feeling dissatisfied with the system. He couldn’t remember ever wanting something different or feeling that there was something missing from the experience.

And now … now he could kiss a man—even enjoy it under a set of very disturbing extenuating circumstances. When he’d realized that it was only the fact that the man he had to actively kiss was Adler that made him feel ill, that he could actually kiss the man as long as he worked hard to pretend that he was kissing some _other_ man...

Not wanting to kiss Adler only meant that Klink wasn’t completely insane—when he’d thought he was normal, there had been women he wouldn’t have enjoyed kissing either—but being able to kiss a man? Maybe the Reich wouldn’t be wrong to consider him homosexual for that line of thinking. Maybe he was. As much as he’d like not to believe it, it seemed as though the evidence was piling up. Even if he’d never shown any interest in men before, obviously, something had changed. Either that or he’d always been this way and had been too stupid (or too clever) to notice before now.

He thought about the men he’d considered his friends. When he still saw them on any kind of regular basis, he’d cared about them, but he couldn’t recall ever wanting anything more than their friendship. But, maybe he’d been so far in denial about what he truly was, about his own motives, that he hadn’t realized that he wanted more. Maybe, when he hugged them or kissed their cheeks, he’d let himself linger longer than what was proper. Had he? He didn’t like the thought of being the sort of man who stole furtive touches from his friends, but then, there was so much about him lately he didn’t like the thought of—what was one thing more?

Of course, it all seemed rather moot now: the idea of sex held no appeal to him. If it turned out that he actually _survived_ this, he couldn’t imagine wanting someone to—wanting to be intimate with someone again. He could barely stand to have anyone _stand_ next to him—never mind actually _touching_ him. He couldn’t imagine being comfortable enough with anyone to want even that. Sex was out of the question!

Except, it seemed that what he _wanted_ didn’t enter into the equation at all when Adler turned his body against him. As the swine had so eloquently put it, the body doesn’t lie—his body clearly welcomed the violation even if his mind didn’t. And even his own mind wasn’t on his side. Of all the men he had to imagine kissing, it just _had_ to be the Senior POW. As though all of this hadn’t been disgusting and disquieting enough, there had to be another confounding, uncomfortable layer on top of it!

Like his apparent homosexuality, this, this fixation on the American made no sense to him. While Klink could recognize that Colonel Hogan was handsome, in his entirely too laidback way, and while he could recall times, with embarrassment, when he’d been taken in by the man’s irrepressible charm, he’d never felt attracted to him. At least, he didn’t think he’d ever been. He certainly couldn’t remember ever thinking that he wanted to kiss him!

But then again, he hadn’t realized until recently that he’d been at least fond enough of Hogan to unconsciously consider him a friend. Maybe, in the same way, he’d hidden other feelings for the American too. He didn’t think it was true, but he was finding it difficult to come up with another explanation for why Hogan had come so easily to mind when he’d been forced to, to participate in Adler’s kisses.

Before Adler, before Klink’s twisted imagination took over, he would never have imagined that he had any feelings for Hogan beyond a grudging respect and a slight—very slight—fondness for his antics. Now? Now, he just didn’t know _what_ he felt. What he felt didn’t matter in any real sense since he was completely certain that whatever feelings he had wouldn’t be returned or appreciated. Still, it would be nice to know—just for his own peace of mind.

Then there was the other thing he’d like to figure out for the same reason: Colonel Hogan himself. Well, to be fair, Klink had been trying to figure that man out for ages, but this was different. What Hogan had told him... Hogan was always trying to get him to believe outrageous, ridiculous things, wasn’t he? What was one more? Because it _was_ ridiculous—Hogan was far too clever to actually like someone as pathetic as himself. In light of his current confusion regarding his feelings about the man, it was a little worrying to Klink how much that thought hurt.

But then, if he didn’t believe that Hogan was telling the truth about his reason for wanting to help, that left Klink with the same question of why a prisoner was insisting on pretending that he actually cared about what his warden did to himself. He was sure that Hogan was being truthful when he’d said how he’d used Klink in the past, but Klink found it hard to believe that he, Klink, was as important to Hogan’s ‘war effort’ as he’d claimed.

Contrary to what Hogan believed, Klink knew he was no moral giant—there were plenty of Kommandants who didn’t ‘bring out the firing squad’ on a whim. Besides, even if Hogan had only said that much to butter him up, Klink also knew that even the people who didn’t like Hogan still respected him. If the Senior POW couldn’t win over his replacement in a matter of days, Klink would eat his hat!

At least, he would if it weren’t for the fact that he wouldn’t be around in that case to see how that bet turned out.

Klink drank the rest of the tea but didn’t put down the empty cup, too immersed in his thoughts to do more than stare passed it as his mind whirred. It was foolish to wait. It really was. What was _Hogan_ going to do? Colonel Hoople aside—and how surprised had he been when _that_ name had come up?—, what did Hogan think he _could_ do? Adler wasn’t going to be interested in _money_! Of course, if money _would_ be all it would take to get rid of Adler’s presence in his life, that left Klink with the simultaneously hilarious and horrifying prospect of being sold to Hogan by proxy.

Then again … Hogan had said something interesting when he’d told Klink to give in if Adler was really going to kill him. Something interesting besides the offer itself, which Klink had no intention of taking. He’d said that he needed time, not because he needed it—only because having more time would be safer for his men. If Hogan only planned on printing money or something simple like that … how much danger was there, really? But, if Hogan planned on doing something more dangerous than that … how would he be able to manage it? What was he planning to do?

Good questions he probably should have asked sometime during those card games.

Still, whether or not Hogan’s plan was possible or dangerous or existent, Klink had tonight to get through first. Permission from the Senior POW to agree to throw one of his men to that beast if doing otherwise would mean his life aside—which was a lot to put aside, to be sure—, he wasn’t looking forward to Adler’s reaction to his continued resistance. Then again, at least his body reacted properly to Adler’s anger.

If only it reacted properly to Adler’s lust as well. Klink wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of being homosexual but there were worse perversions—Adler’s choice in hobby was proof of that much. However, it wasn’t that, so much, that truly bothered him.

No, what really bothered him the most about all of this was the fact that a man he hated so much could make him lose control. That some part of him had to enjoy what the swine put him through. Ho w could he enjoy being hurt and humiliated like that? Adler’s touch felt like a taint. It made him feel like he was drowning in slime. Who could possibly enjoy that?

Maybe he was a masochist as well! They went in for that sort of thing, didn’t they? They enjoyed pain, right? While it would certainly be safer for him, as far as the Reich was concerned, if he were a masochist rather than a homosexual, he didn’t think he was one of those either. He’d stubbed his toes a lot over the years and had never gotten aroused by it! He hadn’t gotten aroused by that whipping Adler had given him either.

Besides, would even a masochist be able to find pleasure at the hands of someone they despised? Klink couldn’t be sure, but he was feeling too depressed to believe that even the most depraved of that number could do what he’d done—enjoy the ministrations of a monster. What was wrong with him?

Even knowing that the General had gone after his prisoners first, Klink still had a feeling that Adler had picked him to do this to for a particular reason. He couldn’t be sure what that reason was—and he certainly wasn’t going to ask!—but he had the sickening fear that Adler had been able to tell just how defective he was. Or, at the very least, how much of a weak coward he was.

Because he _was_ weak. He was so weak that he wanted to believe that Hogan liked him, even after the American admitted to taking advantage of Klink’s one-sided camaraderie to get what he wanted. Sure, Hogan’s motives were better than Adler’s but the fact remained that the man flat-out told him that he’d manipulated Klink’s emotions and Klink _still_ wanted to believe him.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. Perhaps it was childish of him, but he wanted to scream it. He had done nothing that warranted this. He had done nothing to deserve this. And yet, at the same time, how could he say that? It was ultimately his own fault he was here now, wasn’t it. He’d been stupid enough to think his life was worth this soul destroying humiliation.

His hold on the tea cup tightened, and he suddenly felt trapped under the accusing weight of his inner voice. Maybe he deserved to be punished for being such a fool. Maybe he deserved to be punished for being so pathetic. Except, it could hardly be called a punishment when he was twisted enough to enjoy it! Maybe the only reason he _didn’t_ deserve Adler’s perverted affections was that he enjoyed it too much—

Before he could think about what he was doing, he threw the cup across the room as hard as he could. Porcelain shattered against the wall and shards littered the carpet. His shoulder hurt a little from the savage, unprepared throw and he could feel himself trembling with spent emotion. He looked away from the broken cup on the floor and stared down at his empty hand accusingly, as though his hand had been solely responsible for the fact that his tea set was now incomplete.

 _That_ had been a useful, intelligent thing to do, hadn’t it? Klink rubbed his face, not surprised by the further lack of control he found there but disappointed and annoyed. Crying like a child, afraid of every man who crossed his path, and now he’d thrown another tantrum. He didn’t know why he kept doing this—breaking his things didn’t make him feel any better.

At least no one had been here to witness this latest display of temper. The list of people who thought something was the matter with him was long enough as it was without more witnesses to his utter inability to control himself. If only he could figure out a reason for that as well!

Klink tittered, feeling amused in a bitter way. Another item to add to the list! It was getting altogether too long. He looked at the remains of the cup and debated whether or not he wanted to take care of it now or later, before deciding that he should probably do it before he stumbled onto the mess without boots on. When he took to his feet, he felt lightheaded and he leaned over the table for support, the sudden vertigo catching him off guard. What was wrong with him now? Was it the Eukadol? Was his blood pressure too high? Had he stood up too quickly? Was it because he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days?

He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He just wanted the room to stop lurching around on him. Gradually, the world stilled and Klink risked stepping away from the table, still feeling lightheaded but no longer dizzy. Lightheaded, he could manage. Dizzy, he hadn’t wanted to risk a fall.

Before he took more than three steps, a knocking sound interrupted his progress. He turned towards the office door in time to see Corporal Langenscheidt open it.

The Corporal saluted. “General Adler is here to see you, sir.”

Klink imagined he could feel the blood draining from his face to collect in his shoes. “He’s early,” he said, knowing that he shouldn’t say that but finding it hard not to say it when it was the only coherent thought in his mind. The rest of his thoughts were being steadily consumed by terror. He was not prepared for this yet!

“Sir?”

Why was Adler here so early? His stomach twisted as a possibility presented itself: Adler was going to try forcing him to hand over a prisoner _for tonight_. Why else would he be here this early? This was too early for the swine to want to play his other game, wasn’t it? Klink was expected to be available now for things that weren’t emergencies!

“Sir?”

What was he going to do? Maybe the more important question was what was _Adler_ going to do to him? Klink _knew_ he shouldn’t have waited. He’d known it was foolish to wait. But, no, he simply _had_ to listen to Hogan and his stupid, American optimism! A chance? A chance? If he hadn’t been so close to out and out panic, he thought he might have laughed.

“Sir!”

Klink blinked and saw Corporal Langenscheidt standing very close to him, close enough to touch. The younger man’s leer was so cleverly concealed that it looked merely like confusion and frustration. He backed away and felt surprised when the Corporal didn’t follow.

“Kommandant?” Now concern came to join the other two emotions as Langenscheidt held his hands out in front of him, the palms outward, as though to show Klink that he had nothing in them. “What are your orders?”

“Orders?” Klink frowned and tried to remember what he was supposed to be giving orders about.

Langenscheidt nodded, still leering at him with concern. “General Adler is here to see you, sir. Do you want me to show him in?”

Oh. Right. Adler. How could he have forgotten? “Yes, Corporal. Show him in. Then go off duty.”

A salute. “Yes, sir.”

As Klink waited for the Corporal to send Adler in, he took several deep breaths. He had to calm down—how could he hope to hold out for any length of time if just knowing the man was going to be here within seconds was enough to cause his palms to sweat? Strong. He had to be strong.

Adler entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He was grinning happily. Hungrily. “Good evening, Wilhelm,” he greeted as he started making his way to where Klink stood. “I know I’m early, but we have a lot to discuss tonight.” Pausing mid-step, he frowned. “Well, aren’t you going to greet me?”

Klink stared at Adler and wondered what sort of greeting would appease the swine. He took a steadying breath, hoping to make his fear less obvious. “Hello, General.”

Apparently, this effort was insufficient, for Adler shook his head. When he spoke, it was in a tone of exaggerated disappointment. “That is no way to greet someone!” He approached, stopping about a foot short. “The least you could do is look happy to see me.” Crossing his arms, he ordered imperiously: “Try it again. Wish me a good evening.”

Considering how angry he would be making this man possibly very soon, it seemed unwise to antagonize him needlessly. Klink pulled his lips back in an expression he was sure more closely resembled a grimace than a friendly smile. “Good evening, General.”

Adler considered the attempt before shaking his head. “No, that won’t do. Too formal.” He closed the rest of the space between them and brought his hand up to cup Klink’s cheek. “Surely, after how _well_ we’ve gotten to know each other, you could call me by my given name.” A light kiss. “Wish me a good evening.”

Although Adler clearly felt that he had the right to be so informal with him, Klink did not share the sentiment and addressing Adler as ‘General’ had spared Klink the need to return the swine’s unwelcome familiarity. It was as though Adler knew just how to make this whole unpleasant business even more wrenching for him! He wondered if that was why Adler did it or if there was some other reason he kept forcing these little touches of intimacy on him.

_Just words_ , Klink told himself fiercely. Meaningless words—like everything else Adler forced him to say. “Good evening, J-Josef.”

Adler’s smile was cruelly amused: he’d obviously noticed Klink’s distaste. “I think, when you answer my questions, you should always address me.” His fingers started on Klink’s tie. “Understand, Wilhelm?”

Klink tensed as Adler’s hands came around his throat to lift the tie over his head. “Y-yes, I understand. Josef.” The name sounded unnatural to his ears, felt unnatural in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if that was due to the fact that he didn’t want to be this familiar with Adler or because such a simple, inoffensive name hardly seemed to suit the monster who, having tossed the tie to the floor, was now unbuttoning his jacket.

Abruptly, Adler paused. “Have you taken your medicine tonight?”

It was medicine now? Klink wondered whether Adler would be happy with his answer but saw no way around it—if Adler ended up wanting him to take it now … he was lightheaded from what he’d taken already. “I-I have. Josef.”

A predatory smile. “Then our discussion will have to wait until later,” he said, walking passed Klink and grabbing his hand to drag him along to the bedroom. “My means of persuasion won’t work very well if you can’t feel it,” he continued, his tone frighteningly pleasant considering the topic. Klink shuddered, wondering just what ‘means’ Adler had in mind and whether he’d be able to keep the promise he’d made to himself.

Adler opened the door and pulled Klink inside. “It’s just as well,” he crooned into Klink’s ear, “I prefer pleasure before business anyway.” Before Klink knew what Adler planned, Adler pushed him down onto the bed.

Klink stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, trying to convince his heart to return to his chest where it belonged. Why did _this_ seem familiar? The weight of a man straddling his hips was also familiar. For a moment, he was back in Hilda’s office, pinned by the Senior POW. He shook his head, trying to get himself back to the present. At least Hogan had let him up after Klink had begged—he knew that that wouldn’t happen now. He was also sure if, not for the Eukadol this would be even more uncomfortable than it was.

Adler’s face blocked his view of the ceiling. He was smirking, and Klink felt fingers opening his jacket to reveal the shirt beneath. “I don’t understand why you look so unhappy, Wilhelm.” The buttons came undone one by one as Adler spoke. “I’ve never used a man as responsive as you—you really seem to enjoy this.” Fingers slid the shirt back and touched bare skin.

Klink shuddered at the touches as well as at the words. His stomach churned as Adler kissed him, pressing him down into the mattress, smothering him. The familiar feel of Adler’s tongue in his mouth was almost a relief—at least the swine couldn’t talk. At least he couldn’t say any more words that confirmed what Klink so feared to be true.

But the silence didn’t last.

Adler drew back, sliding down off of Klink’s hips to pin his legs between his own so he could access Klink’s belt. “The others, the others were very difficult to get a reaction from—if I could get a reaction at all!” His hands fumbled with the buckle as he spoke, finally gaining entry. He pulled the pants down just over Klink’s hips. “But you? It’s so easy for me to get you to react for me.”

Klink grit his teeth as Adler’s touches grew more and more invasive, fighting back the impulse to push Adler away. He wished he were like those men Adler was rambling about. If only he could deny this monster the satisfaction of his body’s betrayal! While Klink had no reason to believe that Adler was telling the truth about the other men he’d forced into this position, he also saw no compelling reason to disbelieve it either. Even if Adler _was_ lying about them, Klink couldn’t deny the truth of what Adler had just said. His skin was crawling with worms, and he could feel his body turning against him.

Adler chuckled in his throat as he leaned forward, bringing his face close to Klink’s own. “Are you ready to kiss me?” he asked, putting his hands on Klink’s chest.

 _No_ , Klink thought but didn’t say. That wasn’t the right answer. The right answer made his stomach twist into knots.

“Yes, I’m ready.” He noticed the slight frown and realized that he’d forgotten the newest part of this script. “Josef.”

“Good,” Adler said dryly. “Get to it.”

Klink brought his head up and, as soon as he was certain he’d meet Adler’s lips, he closed his eyes. Although, they weren’t Adler’s lips he was meeting, just as it wasn’t Adler’s mouth which latched onto his own. And it wasn’t Adler’s tongue he felt when he deepened the kiss. Which was all well and good except that his imagination insisted that, if it wasn’t Adler he was kissing, it had to be someone else.

When Hogan came to mind once again, Klink accepted it with a sort of vindictiveness. It was the Senior POW’s fault he was here now—why should Klink feel guilty for using him this way? The answer was immediately supplied but Klink brushed it aside. There was no time for guilt now—later there would be plenty of time.

His imagination worked hard to replace the swine with the American. He reminded himself that he didn’t hate Hogan as invasive hands took liberties. In fact, he liked the American, even with everything. So, being pressed down into the mattress wasn’t being smothered, wasn’t a cause to fear. And Hogan … Hogan liked him too.

 _Not like this!_ a shrill voice disagreed. Klink conceded without argument, wishing he hadn’t had the thought at all. The guilt he’d managed to push away threatened to drown him. It would be wrong to use the American this way if the man _didn’t_ like him—it was a whole different kind of betrayal if Hogan actually did. Klink was certain that, whatever Hogan’s feelings were, they had nothing to do with what Klink was currently using him for.

He broke the kiss and hoped that Adler had tired of that game.

Adler stared down at him, thoughtfully. “You always have your eyes closed when you kiss me, Wilhelm,” he stated, his lips twisting into a dangerous smile. “I wonder, who it is you’re thinking of.”

It wasn’t really a question, Klink reasoned. Just a statement. He shivered as Adler ran his fingers down his face.

“Who do you think of?” The question’s tone was merely curious but the look in Adler’s eyes held a warning.

Klink wished he knew what Adler’s eyes were trying to warn him about. He certainly wasn’t going to answer this question honestly! “N-no one. I-I’m not thinking of anyone.”

Adler’s expression tightened and, for a moment, Klink feared that Adler would become violent. It was quite a surprise to Klink when Adler started to chuckle, sounding only amused. “You really are a horrible liar, but you can keep your secret for now.” He kissed Klink lightly. “We can discuss it tomorrow.” Adler rolled off of him and got off the bed. “Now, get undressed.”

Sitting up, Klink felt a little lightheaded again. He did his best to ignore it as he complied with Adler’s latest demand. At least he wasn’t being undressed like a doll, a toy. His hands shook badly as he peeled off his jacket and his undershirt, and he wondered if it was due to the terror he was feeling or if it was connected with his lightheadedness somehow.

Removing the boots had been a tricky maneuver and he had only finished pulling them off when Adler spoke, sounding almost concerned.

“You’re moving very slowly tonight.” He came to sit on the bed next to Klink, slinging an arm around Klink’s shoulders. “I know this has all been difficult for you,” he said, his tone trying for compassionate and not quite hitting it, “but it will get easier if you work with me.”

It was a struggle not to shrug the arm off. While he managed to keep his body under control, for once!, his mouth refused to be reined in. “Work with you?” he asked incredulously, taking in the surprised expression on Adler’s face but unable to stop himself. “I-I let you use my body because you threatened me with the Gestapo! What more do you expect from me?” He closed his eyes tightly, uncertain of what Adler’s reaction would be and not wanting to see whatever punishment he got for is candor coming.

Adler’s arm around his shoulders tightened in a gross parody of a comforting hug. “Having your body is nice, Wilhelm,” he said seriously, “but I want your mind as well.” Before Klink could process that statement, Adler’s other hand came to turn Klink’s face toward his. “Open your eyes.”

Klink did so with reluctance.

A gentle smile that couldn’t hide the hunger in his eyes. “There? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“N-no, it wasn’t,” Klink lied. Then, remembering: “Josef.”

The kiss was deep and, as Adler pushed him back down onto his back, all Klink could think of was the pistol in his desk and how he could have ended this … if he’d really wanted to.

* * *

“Now that we’re done with the pleasure, it’s time for the business,” Adler said once he was redressed. “It’s time for your punishment.”

Klink felt too exhausted to feel much of anything at this announcement. At what had just transpired a third time in his bed. The shame and the self-recrimination would come later, he didn’t doubt. For now though, he accepted the shield the exhaustion offered and tried not to think. He sat up, ignoring the now familiar ache. Dizzy. From lightheaded to dizzy. This couldn’t be good.

Adler grabbed his arm and pulled him the rest of the way up. “Come on now,” he chided. “You knew this was the price you would pay for defying me.” He shoved Klink in the direction of the door. “Be grateful I accepted your apology this afternoon—otherwise, this would be much worse than it’s going to be.”

Klink braced himself against the door, certain he’d fall down otherwise. The words Adler had spoken reverberated in his skull and he realized that what Adler was doing now wasn’t about the prisoners—it was about foiling Adler’s plans of getting Klink transferred to Berlin. He was almost relieved: he was in no condition to withstand anything much in the way of ‘persuasion’.

Lost in his thoughts, he was unprepared for the first blow.

He was similarly unprepared for the second.

When the third came, he realized that Adler had been speaking. Something about having found the perfect spot for an interrogation, and how well it would work if he would only be reasonable and agree to let Adler have a prisoner.

And, after he recovered from the fourth blow, Klink realized how this was going to play out. There was no need to wonder who would give up first—Adler was the one holding the belt in this scenario.

A sense of futility came over him. There was no way to win against this monster. No way that didn’t involve that pistol in his desk. Why not save himself some time? Why not save himself some pain? Besides, Hogan had told him it was all right to say that he would do as Adler said. Surely, Hogan must have _some_ idea of what he was doing!

“Well? Are you going to be reasonable?”

Then again, he knew why Hogan had made that offer: Hogan had made that offer because he thought Klink was a coward—that he’d give in _anyway_ , so why not pretend that he was doing Klink a _favor_ by telling him to do what he’d do without the offer. And Adler … Adler thought he was a coward too.

Another strike of the belt stole Klink’s breath away.

“Answer me!”

Klink didn’t want to just give up. Even if he lost in the end, at least he’d have the comfort of knowing that he’d _tried_ instead of just giving in like the disgusting coward Adler and Hogan so clearly thought he was. Anger won an edge over his apathy. He swallowed down the pain, the terror, and forced the words out of his throat: “I’m not going to, to let you touch any of them.”

He knew the blow would come but being prepared for it hadn’t helped. He heard himself whimper, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry,” Adler said, his pleasant tone unable to mask his frustration, “but I don’t think I heard you correctly. You said you’d let me have one of you prisoners, didn’t you?”

 _Not this easily._ Klink could feel himself shaking, cold, terrified, pained, and he decided it didn’t matter. It wasn’t unbearable yet. He wasn’t ready to beg for Adler to stop. He wasn’t ready to prove them right. “No.”

The next blow sent him to his knees. It had felt different, like something had torn on his back, and he thought he could feel something dripping down his side.

“I hadn’t wanted to do it this way,” Adler said with anger and something that sounded like real regret. “I hadn’t wanted to make you bleed, but you’re being so _stubborn_!”

Another blow accompanied the word and Klink’s world went dark for a moment.

“Why put yourself through this?” Adler asked, sounding remarkably like Klink’s own inner voice. “Those men are nothing.”

That was where Adler and his inner voice disagreed. Klink took a deep breath, uncertain he’d be able to speak. The world was alternating between spinning and turning dark, and he was finding it very difficult to focus. He felt so cold. Still, there was something he wanted to say. Something he had to say. He summoned up his remaining strength along with the tattered ribbons of his pride. “Wrong. N-never … never agree. Never. You swine.”

There was an inarticulate shriek of rage. Pain that Klink could scarcely feel over the chill. Over and over.

Then there was nothing at all.


	44. Wake-Up Call

Schultz watched the young guard leave with a feeling of dread. He’d told his guards to tell him if General Adler left camp, but he hadn’t expected to be woken up in the middle of the night. And he hadn’t expected Adler to be spotted leaving the Kommandant’s office just before taking his leave.

Corporal Braun hadn’t gotten an answer from Adler about _why_ he’d left or for how long, however, he said that the General had seemed in a poor mood. Schultz wondered what that meant. Had something happened? Had General Adler done something in the Kommandant’s quarters and that’s why he’d left? Had something happened to the Kommandant?

Or did this have nothing to do with the Big Shot’s trouble and it was just a coincidence that Adler had left the office building before leaving camp? 

Schultz spent several agonizing minutes in painful indecision before his worry won out. The concern of giving Klink proof that Schultz knew something out of the ordinary was going on was overshadowed by the feeling that something had happened to the man. The chance of being found out was worth making sure that everything was as it should be.

He received a slightly puzzled look from the guard stationed outside of the office building but Corporal Zimmerman did not do anything to interfere. Schultz was thankful that he didn’t have to come up with a quick excuse for disturbing the Kommandant this late at night when he wasn’t technically on duty. As for what he’d tell the Colonel himself, Schultz still wasn’t sure, but it was too late to turn back now!

A few minutes later found him in Klink’s quarters. Nothing seemed out of place until he noticed one of the Colonel’s ties on the floor. “Kommandant?” When he received no answer, Schultz closed the door behind him and stepped more fully inside. From where he stood, he saw that the bedroom door was ajar and that the light was on. 

Schultz felt his dread congeal in his stomach. It was too quiet here. He approached the door slowly, as though he was sneaking up on a rabid animal. “Kommandant?” There was no answer to this call either. He took hold of the edge of the door and swung it open. At first, he thought Klink’s bedroom was empty as well. But then his eyes strayed down to the floor.

Blood. Gorge rose up in Schultz’s throat and he turned away, trying hard to keep a hold of himself. He couldn’t vomit now—he had to make sure his commander was … well, ‘all right’ was probably out of the question now! When he could bear to look again, he saw the Big Shot huddled on the floor in front of his feet, naked, his back covered in blood. He wasn’t moving, and his skin looked gray.

Almost against his will, Schultz bent down and reached out a hand to take hold of one of the man’s shoulders. The skin beneath his fingers was clammy and cool but Schultz felt himself sag with relief as he realized that Klink was still breathing. He’d been afraid that he’d been touching a corpse! But no, he was alive.

And Adler had done this. Of that fact, Schultz had absolutely no doubts. Anger towards the Gestapo general was stifled only by his concern for his commander. He simply did not have time to be angry right now. He didn’t know when or if Adler would return, but there were more important things to concern himself with at the moment! “Kommandant!”

A pained groan was his response.

Quickly, Schultz pulled his hand away, belatedly remembering the promise he’d made yesterday. “Sir? Please wake up!”

Klink’s eyes opened only for a moment, dull and unfocused. Then he closed them again. Repeated pleas by Schultz to wake up were greeted with no response. Schultz’s mind raced. He didn’t know what had happened—his squeamishness kept him from looking too closely at the injuries on Klink’s back—but, seeing as the Colonel was unconscious, it must be fairly serious. Something beyond at least _this_ guard’s ability to deal with.

Calling a doctor from town was out of the question and sending for the camp doctor was out for the same reason: Schultz wasn’t clever enough to come up with a reasonable explanation for this injury that wouldn’t end up getting the Colonel into trouble. But how could he just leave now and do nothing?

A thought occurred to him, and he felt his lips turn up. _He_ might not be clever enough, but he knew someone who was. And, more importantly, that someone had a medic. After all of the things Schultz _hadn’t_ seen, surely, Colonel Hogan owed him this much!

But first … he couldn’t leave the Big Shot on the floor. Schultz considered the problem before deciding that he could do it. Carefully, mindful of the Colonel’s back, he put his hands under Klink’s arm pits and lifted him up. It took some maneuvering but he eventually half dragged and half carried the Kommandant to the bed and laid him on his stomach.

“I’ll get you some help,” he said, even though the man could not hear him. He hesitated before pulling a blanket over his lightly shivering commander. Bloodstains on the bedclothes should be the least of the man’s worries, and he didn’t need to catch a chill on top of everything else. Taking a step back, Schultz looked over his handiwork. Klink looked unwell but he didn’t look dead—he’d pass casual inspection if someone else came across him before he returned. 

With all this taken care of, Schultz hurried out of the office building to Barracks 2. While he didn’t know what he would tell the American colonel, he knew he would have to tell him something. Probably something that wasn’t safe for Klink. Schultz hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake getting others involved, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

Clearly, the time to do nothing had passed.


	45. Surface Treament

“Colonel Hogan!” Baker called out as Hogan passed. “I’ve got something for you.”

Hogan stopped. “You got the location, Baker?”

The radioman smiled. “Better. I’ve got directions.” He ripped the top sheet of paper from the pad he had in front of him and held it out for Hogan to take. “General Adler said he forgot where the place was.” He frowned. “Real out of the way for an interrogation.”

Hogan hmmed as he took the paper from him. “Good work. Who did he call?”

“A Jan Hirsch.”

The name meant nothing to Hogan, but he hadn’t really expected it to. Looking at the final destination at the bottom of the list of directions, he saw that Baker had not been kidding—this was far off the beaten track. Adler’s need for secrecy would definitely work in Hogan’s favor if he could get the rest of his plan together. “Did Adler say anything else?”

Baker nodded. “He told Hirsch to expect them tomorrow, the day after at the latest.” His frown deepened. “Hirsch tried to get Adler to commit to a day, but Adler told him it depended on how stubborn the Kommandant here planned on being.” From his expression, it was clear that he was hoping for some kind of explanation.

Hogan pretended he didn’t notice. He hoped to keep this mess on a strict need to know basis. Baker’s curiosity aside, the man did not need to know. “Good work,” he said again. “Go get yourself from fresh air, Sergeant.”

A megawatt smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Once the Sergeant was gone, Hogan allowed himself a sigh. The day after tomorrow at the latest? That wasn’t much time to play with. And, in light of what he’d told Klink to do if the Kommandant thought his life was in danger, Hogan knew that he probably wouldn’t even have that long. If Adler finally got what he wanted, it would take more than a phone call from ‘Berlin’ to dissuade him. He had to make certain that everything was in place for tomorrow.

But first, there was another matter than needed to be sorted out as soon as possible.

* * *

“Newkirk, could I have a min—?”

“Sorry, Colonel,” Newkirk said through a mouth of full of pins. “No time.” He turned his head. “Carter, mate! Would you bring that fabric _before_ I die of old age?”

“Coming, Newkirk,” Carter called, entering the room with an armload of black cloth. “I didn’t realize we’d been so rough with those uniforms last time we’d used them!”

Newkirk’s apologetic smile was just a shade too triumphant to be anything of the sort. “I’m going to be here a while, governor.”

Unless he wanted to force a scene with Newkirk in front of Carter, Hogan would have to forfeit this round and wait for a more opportune time. He wondered if that time would be sometime _before_ he sent Newkirk out with Klink and Adler. He let out a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “It can wait. But come to me the minute you’re finished.”

Hogan could tell from Newkirk’s distracted nod that he’d have a long wait.

* * *

“Is it really necessary to be blindfolded?”

Hogan felt his eyes narrow. He’d heard this same exact complaint last time Simon, the leader of the Seven Simeons was here. Considering the circumstances, Simon had some gall to complain.

“You can take it off now; we’re here,” LeBeau said, looking annoyed beneath the grease paint.

Once Simon had done so, he smiled nervously. “I understand you have another mission for us?”

Simon was very fortunate that that was the case, because, since that _was_ the case, there was no time to deck to guy. It took quite a bit to make Hogan lose his cool—backing out of a mission after agreeing to be a part of it, especially considering the stakes in this war, was unforgivable.

But tonight was not about forgiveness; it was about expedience.

Hogan nodded slowly. “Before we get to that, I’m going to warn you there s a lot riding on this mission.” He glared, allowing some of his tightly controlled anger to show, “If you pull what you pulled for the _last_ mission I trusted you with, your usefulness to me and to those I work for will be at an end.”

The other man paled.

 _Good._ “If you accept this mission, you better do what you agreed to do.”

Simon considered it, perhaps weighing his fear of the unknown mission against the known anger of the man standing in front of him. Finally, he looked up, coming to stand at attention. “All right, Papa Bear. We’re in. Just tell me what we have to do.”

* * *

“Ouch!”

“Hush,” Newkirk chided, swatting Simon on the shoulder. “It was an accident.” His tone was far too innocent to be honest. “You need to hold still if you don’t want to be stuck with pins.”

“But that was the third time,” Simon protested under his breath. “Ouch!”

“That makes four!” Carter supplied helpfully.

Hogan didn’t laugh, but he had to turn his head so Simon wouldn’t see his grin.

* * *

“I’ll bring the rest of my men to be fitted tonight,” Simon said, sounding a bit harried. “I’ll be sure to tell them to bring some flak jackets.”

“Sorry,” Newkirk said unapologetically. “It’s just my rheumatism acting up.”

Simon ignored him. “They’ll be waiting for us at the meeting place—I told them to be there to wait for me, and we’re not expected, so it will be no problem to bring them here tonight.”

Hogan nodded. If he could have ignored his misgivings about entrusting this mission to this group, he would have felt like some of the weight on his shoulders had been lifted away. As it was … as it was, he felt like he had even more to juggle. If only there was more time! But, unless Klink could hold out against a very determined Adler, time was one luxury he did not have. “Be here early,” he said as he handed the rough map he’d made from the directions to Simon. “If it’s a no go for tomorrow, you’ll be contacted. If you hear nothing from us, then the mission is still on.”

Simon nodded. “Understood. We’ll be there.”

“Here,” Carter said, handing him a blindfold.

With a sigh, Simon put it on.

* * *

“All right, Papa Bear. We won’t return the sauerkraut until after the party,” London sounded a bit bemused. “We’ll find some other use for it.”

Hogan smiled. He’d been a little worried that London wouldn’t agree to this stipulation—from what he’d gathered, General Adler’s father was quite influential and probably would have been willing to lean on the right people to get back his son. “Thank you. We’ll hold your package here until you can arrange for pick up.” He’d given the logistics of it some thought and had decided that keeping Adler down in the tunnels would be uncomfortable for everyone but not impossible. “Don’t wait too long; it may spoil.”

“Understood. Signing off.”

Hogan shut off the radio before getting out of the chair. The rest of the Simeons were being fitted now—he trusted Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau with getting them sorted out, although he hoped Newkirk would leave off with the pins. Everything he could do tonight had been done. It was time to get some sleep—tomorrow was going to be hectic, if he was any judge of things, and he was certain he’d need the rest.

* * *

Hogan, who never slept too deeply, woke to the interesting sight of Sergeant Schultz attempting to sneak into his office. He sat up and watched the German shut the door behind him. “Schultz?”

Schultz jumped (which, considering the man’s bulk, was also an interesting sight), and spun around. “Colonel Hogan, you scared me!” He moved the hand that had come to rest over his heart out to Hogan. “I need your medic! It is an emergency!”

After getting up from the bunk and stretching in an attempt to move from conscious to awake, Hogan ran a hand through his hair. “Could you run that by me a little more slowly?”

A worried and impatient Schultz shook his head. “I need your help. I need Sergeant Wilson.”

 _Wilson?_ “Why do you need _my_ medic?” Hogan asked with emphasis. “Has the camp doctor started charging?”

“Please, Colonel.” Schultz looked moments away from grabbing him by the shirt. “It—it’s complicated but I need your help, quickly.”

Even though it was dark without the light on, Schultz didn’t look like he needed a medic. Hogan said so, letting his irritation show.

“ _I_ don’t need one!” Schultz covered his eyes briefly. “It is the Kommandant who is injured.”

That snapped Hogan to attention. “Why does he need one?” What had Adler done now? “What’s wrong with him?”

Schultz seemed a little taken aback. “I-I’m not sure. He is—” he broke off, flustered. “I cannot get a doctor for him, and I don’t know what to do myself!”

There was no choice. “All right. I’ll tell Sergeant Wilson to get his kit together, and we’ll go with you to see to the Kommandant.”

“We?”

Hogan nodded. “My medic doesn’t go anywhere without me.” He had a responsibility as Wilson’s commander to go along in case something went wrong. He also wanted to see for himself just how badly off Klink was: Schultz being in a tizzy over the Kommandant being injured was not necessarily a good indicator of the seriousness of the situation. Besides, Hogan had told Klink to give in if the going got tough—there was no reason for him not to.

Schultz’s indecision was brief. “Very well, Colonel. I will take you with me. But we have to hurry.”

Despite Hogan’s assurances that the preparations wouldn’t take long and there was no need for the German to wait in the barracks for them, Schultz refused to budge. He didn’t know how serious the problem with Klink was and, while it would have been nice to have had a chance to find out if Wilson would be able to do anything to help if the Kommandant’s injuries had to do with the … activities he’d been involved with lately, there didn’t seem to be a way to do that without wasting time arguing with Schultz.

When he and Schultz entered the main barracks, he met several sets of questioning eyes. Either they slept as lightly as he did or Schultz was as good at sneaking around as he was at playing cards. “Wilson, I need you to get your kit together. You’re making a house call.”

Wilson was either too sleepy or too professional to ask questions in front of the rest of the men but, either way, Hogan was grateful. It was bad enough that this little late-night outing was bound to be gossip fodder in the morning; if the men here knew _who_ they were going to see as well, … well, the prisoners’ rumor mill rivaled that of any office steno pool.

About five minutes and a whispered conversation between Schultz and the guard at the office building later, the three of them were inside the front office. Hogan decided that now was as good a time as any to find out just what was wrong. “Schultz, why does Colonel Klink need a medic?”

“Klink? I’m here for the Kommandant?” Wilson asked, surprised. “Why didn’t you call a doctor for him?”

Schultz stopped short and turned to face them, uncertain and anxious. “This has to be kept quiet, Colonel, Sergeant,” he said softly. He looked from Hogan to Wilson and back. “You need to promise me that you will never repeat this to anyone. It must be kept secret.” He bit his lip. “Do you promise?”

“Of course, Schultz,” Hogan said with a brightness he didn’t feel. Just what kind of injury did Klink have! “Mum’s the word.” 

Wilson nodded slowly, his confusion plain.

Schultz bowed his head. “I’m not clever enough to, to explain his injuries. I don’t know anything much about it, but I, I believe that Gener—” he broke off with a half shake of his head, changing his mind. “I believe that the Kommandant is a homosexual.”

‘Stunned’ was not nearly a strong enough word. Perhaps it had been short-sighted of Hogan not to expect that those who worked closest with the man _wouldn’t_ notice that something was amiss, but the idea had simply not occurred to him before this moment. He was suddenly reminded of Klink’s accusation that _Hilda_ had spoken to him. What did _she_ know about it?

“He’s homosexual?” Wilson asked, sounding about as shocked as Hogan felt, but for a different reason. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“What difference does that make now?” Schultz returned simply. “He’s injured and I cannot get him a doctor from the camp or from town because the Reich has very clear views on this sort of thing—it could mean his career, at the least!”

“But what’s _your_ view?” Wilson pressed, his tone almost accusatory.

Schultz’s brow furrowed as he stared at the medic. “My view doesn’t matter,” he said, sounding like he was close to the end of his patience. “If you will not help him, tell me now.”

Considering the conversation up to this point, Hogan was surprised when Wilson smiled. “I’ll help—I just wanted to know what I was getting myself into.”

The guard looked perplexed and Hogan had to admit that he was fairly perplexed himself. What exactly had Wilson wanted from that exchange? To annoy Schultz? And what difference did it make to Wilson what Schultz thought about homosexuals—obviously, whatever problems Schultz had with the idea, it wasn’t enough to keep him from seeking medical treatment for Klink.

The question of what _Wilson’s_ view on the matter was came to mind but, seeing as Wilson had agreed to treat the Kommandant, it wasn’t a pressing concern of Hogan’s at the moment.

“All right,” Schultz said at last, looking uncertain and worried. “I will take you to him.”

They made the trip through the office building into Klink’s quarters in silence. As Schultz opened the door to Klink’s bedroom, Hogan realized that he’d never gotten his original question answered: why did Klink need a medic. Since he was going to be seeing for himself in a moment, he didn’t ask again. Once the three of them were in the bedroom, Schultz shut the door behind them.

What struck Hogan first was how pale Klink’s face looked peeking out from beneath the covers. Almost gray. If it weren’t for his shallow breathing, he wouldn’t have looked alive at all. Even without seeing any sign of an injury yet, Hogan had to concede that Schultz had had a reason to be in such a tizzy when he’d come for help.

Wilson was frowning as he approached the still figure on the bed. “So, where is he hurt?” He sounded purely professional, which, considering the conversation before, was welcome. Whatever Wilson’s personal feelings about Klink’s circumstances (as he understood them), the man was too good at his job to let them get in the way.

“I couldn’t look very closely,” Schultz admitted sheepishly, “but I think it’s only his back.”

Wilson’s frown became confused. “His back?” Without hesitation, he took a corner of the blanket and pulled it down to reveal the Kommandant’s injury. He cursed, more out of surprise than anything, Hogan was sure. As a medic, Hogan was certain he could handle blood. Unlike Sergeant Schultz, who had turned away and sounded dangerously close to being ill.

Not without reason—to Hogan’s untrained eye, it didn’t look good. New welts and old bruises crisscrossed Klink’s spine. Blood welled from deeper wounds and stained the surrounding skin red. As for what had caused the injury, Hogan had a sinking feeling that he knew. Something that he refused to call guilt twisted his stomach. “Is this serious?” he asked quietly.

He didn’t need to see Wilson’s face to know it probably looked as incredulous as his voice sounded. “Now? No. In a couple days when infection sets in? Yes.” Hogan looked at him in time to see him shake his head. “How the hell did _this_ happen? It looks like he’s been whipped!”

A strangled sound came from Schultz before the guard hurried to the bathroom. The door shut hard behind him, and Hogan could hear him retching. Wilson set his bag on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on, sir? I know Schultz said that Klink was homosexual, but, well, this doesn’t look like it was caused by sodomy!”

Hogan hesitated. How much did he want to share with Wilson when Schultz was in the other room and could possibly hear them? True, Schultz seemed willing to keep Klink’s secret, but that didn’t mean Hogan wanted to let the guard know that, to Hogan, the news about Adler and Klink had been old news. Also, if Schultz didn’t know the true nature of Adler and Klink’s ‘relationship,’ Hogan didn’t want to be the one to correct his misunderstanding.

Wilson, evidently tired of waiting, turned away from him to tend to Klink. He examined the Kommandant—taking his pulse, looking at his eyes, feeling his head, checking his arms—in a very efficient, clinical manner. The only sounds he made were the occasional muttered word as his frown deepened. Watching them, Hogan was certain that Klink would not have appreciated Wilson’s thoroughness had he been conscious—if he’d have allowed Wilson to be so close to him in the first place.

“Will he be all right?” Schultz asked worriedly.

Hogan had not noticed the guard’s return from the bathroom, and he turned to look. Schultz was still a bit green around the gills but he seemed to have recovered, more or less.

Wilson stood up straight. “Go stoke up the stove,” he ordered the German, ignoring his question. “It’s too cold in here. And get a pitcher of water and a glass.”

Schultz looked from Wilson to Hogan to Klink, his worry unmistakable. “If, if anything happens—I’ll be in the other—you will call for me,” he stumbled inarticulately. “Ja?”

“You’ve got it, Schultz,” Hogan assured the fat Sergeant in as bright a tone as he could dredge up. “You just do what the doctor says.”

Still looking shaken, Schultz nodded slowly as he backed out the door. He closed it, leaving Wilson and Hogan alone with Klink.

Wilson shook his head again. “I think he’s in shock.”

Frankly, Hogan was surprised that the medic sounded so serious about it. “Well, it’s not too surprising considering how well Schultz deals with blood.”

“No, not him,” Wilson said, not quite smiling. “I mean Colonel Klink. I think he’s suffering from shock.” His brow furrowed. “It’s strange though. These,” he indicated the striations on Klink’s back, “aren’t that serious—I’m sure they’ll hurt a great deal once he’s conscious, but there’s no major blood loss as far as I can see right now.” He puzzled over it a moment longer before shrugging, letting the puzzle go unsolved for the time being. “That’s the bathroom, right?” he asked, indicating the door where Schultz had gone to lose whatever meal he’d had last.

Hogan nodded.

“Good.” Wilson walked over to it. “I hope he has some towels because I didn’t come prepared for a big job.” Within minutes, he returned bearing a couple towels and a wet washcloth. He set the towels on the bed before using the washcloth to wipe the blood away from Klink’s back.

Hogan watched him wipe and noticed the bruises on Klink’s arms. Greenish purple bands that looked too much like fingers to be anything else appeared several places. Did the Kommandant bruise so easily? Or was General Adler just that rough with him?

Wilson frowned as new red welled up in the washcloth’s wake. “Still bleeding. I’ll have to bandage this first.” He continued wiping. “Hand me my kit.”

“You’re getting very good at giving orders, Sergeant,” Hogan mock grumbled as he collected Wilson’s kit. “What do you need?”

“Sulfa powder. It’s in a metal tin.”

Once Hogan found the correct item, he handed it to Wilson who took it gratefully.

“Thank you.” He opened the tin and pulled out a small packet of sulfa powder. “Our stock is still fairly high from the last drop, so I can spare some for this.” He ripped the packet open and started sprinkling it on Klink’s back. “This isn’t very serious but it looks like it could get infected pretty easily. When we get him conscious, I’ve got some pills for him to take as well.”

The door opened and in stepped Schultz who looked very proud of himself. “I have got that fire hot enough for the devil!” He paled as his eyes came to rest on Klink and Klink’s exposed back. Quickly, he set the pitcher and glass he was holding on the bedside table before shutting the door. “Has he woken up?”

Wilson shook his head. “Not yet.” He crumpled the empty packet and shoved it inside his pocket. “I’ve got to get a bandage on this,” he said, pointing to Klink’s back. “I need one of you to sit him up for me.”

“You want the honors, Schultz?” Hogan asked lightly.

The guard’s smile was pained. “I can’t. I, I promised him that I would keep my hands to myself.”

That must have been an interesting conversation. Perhaps he’d try getting it out of Schultz later. “I guess the honors are mine then.”

It took a bit of maneuvering to get Klink upright as well as to protect his modesty. In the end, Hogan sat on the bed with him, bracing the man with an arm around his shoulders and propping him up with a hand on his chest. The blanket covered the lower half.

Hogan hoped that Klink would not choose to wake up while in this position. The last thing any of them needed was another thrashing fit.

Either sensing the need for speed or only wanting to finish with the maneuver so they could lay his patient back down, Wilson worked quickly. He laid the towel on Klink’s back, using is as a pad, and wrapped bandages around his torso to keep the towel in place.

As Wilson worked, Hogan watched Klink’s face for signs of wakefulness. He had a very good view of the new bruises around Klink’s throat now as well as the old one on his cheek. Considering how precarious _Adler’s_ position in all of this was, it suddenly struck Hogan as odd that the General seemed to care so little about leaving evidence of his violence on easily visible parts of the Kommandant’s body. Was he _trying_ to get caught? Or did he just have so little control over himself.

And this business tonight—what had he been thinking, leaving the Kommandant like this to be found by any guard who might have emergency camp business? As it was, Adler was just lucky that Klink had been found by someone who cared enough about _Klink_ to keep quiet about what he’d found.

Of course, Hogan thought darkly, from what London had not quite said but heavily implied, Adler usually preyed on people whom he could get away with bruising or doing worse to. Clearly, restraint wasn’t something Adler had needed to worry too much about up to this point. Hogan closed his eyes, letting go of his anger. Adler wouldn’t be a problem much longer: it was going to be a wonderful day when he sent that bastard to London.

“All set,” Wilson said brightly. “You can lay him down now.”

Hogan opened his eyes. “You want him on his stomach or on his back?”

Wilson gave the matter a moment’s thought. “His back. It won’t feel very nice but the pressure will help with the bleeding.” Hogan felt the mattress move as the medic got off the bed. “I’d like to elevate his legs too—get some blood to his head.”

During the whole operation, as had been the case when they’d first gotten him into the sitting position, Klink did not react. The phrase ‘dead weight’ echoed forebodingly in Hogan’s mind but, even so, once they’d gotten his feet up with a folded blanket and had used another blanket to cover him, Hogan had to admit that Klink looked much better than he had when they’d first come in. He looked much more alive.

“Will he be all right?” Schultz asked, almost timidly.

“It’s difficult to say,” Wilson said. “It would be a lot easier to make a diagnosis if someone actually told me what exactly happened here tonight.” He sounded a little frustrated and Hogan didn’t blame him—it was always difficult to be expected to shoot in the dark and hit something.

“I don’t know that either, Sergeant,” Schultz said, splaying his hands out in helpless supplication. “I only found him on the floor—I don’t know what happened to him.”

It was plain that Wilson did not believe this. “If you don’t have any idea what happened to him,” he began, his cool tone costing him, “then why didn’t you get a doctor for him instead of me?” He held up his hand. “I know you said that he’s a homosexual but, as far as I can tell, being homosexual is _not_ what caused that injury he has.”

Schultz looked trapped. “I-it’s not for me to say,” he stuttered. “I, I have said too much about it already.”

Wilson ran a hand over his face. “Is there anything you _can_ tell me?” He seemed not to care that he was letting his frustration show so clearly. “Does he have a weak heart? Is he prone to fainting? Is he ill, under stress? Anything?”

The German’s brow creased as he considered it. “I... I think he has been very … anxious. And I think he has been skipping meals.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Sergeant,” he repeated, sounding apologetic. “He does not talk to me.” A faint smile. “He does not want me too close.”

Wilson stared at Schultz for a moment before relenting. “How long has he been skipping meals, do you think? And, when you say anxious, what do you mean?”

Hogan listened to Schultz’s rambling explanations with half an ear. Klink’s restricted diet wasn’t of much interest to him, and he’d already known that Klink was anxious—an understatement, if anything. He looked down at Klink and wondered what had happened tonight. While the circumstantial evidence fairly clearly answered how, it did not answer the why. Why hadn’t Klink pretended to give in like he’d told him to? Why had he put himself through this?

 _Because he thought he had to._ Hogan bowed his head. If only there had been some way to let Klink know that everything had been set into motion. There hadn’t been—not without it looking incredibly suspicious. Senior POW or not, prisoners did not make late night house calls to the Kommandant.

Still, from what Wilson had said, the prognosis was good. Sure, shock could be deadly, but Klink’s color looked better already, and the injuries to his back weren’t too serious. Infection wouldn’t be something the Kommandant would have to worry about. The positive thoughts were not quite enough to distract Hogan from the fact that he would have to tell the man tomorrow that his efforts tonight had been wasted. The new Klink was different from the old Klink, but Hogan figured it was safe to assume that the German would not be happy about this development. And Hogan could hardly blame him for that.

As though the prospect of getting Klink to swallow his cover plan wouldn’t be hard enough already!

“That might explain his condition,” Wilson said, drawing Hogan’s attention back to their conversation. He sighed. “I hate to do this, but we need to get him awake—there’s some bruising on his abdomen which I’d like to be able to check out.” At Schultz’s questioning look, Wilson supplied, “I can’t ask him where it hurts if he’s not awake.”

Hogan reached down to take Klink’s shoulder. He had been about to shake him, to try to wake him up, when a hand grabbed onto his arm.

Turning, he saw that Schultz was the one who had taken hold of him. “Do not wake him like that,” Schultz said, uncharacteristically intense. “Use your voice.” He let go of Hogan’s arm and smiled, a little embarrassed. “He does not like to be woken up that way.”

“Okay, Schultz,” Hogan said, hiding his shock with easy acceptance. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the man move so quickly! “Kommandant,” he called firmly. “Wake up.” Having not expected this to get any kind of response, he was surprised to see Klink’s face twist. “Come on, sir! Don’t keep us waiting.”

Klink’s eyes opened but they were dull, unfocused. Not conscious.

Even so, this was working much better than he’d expected. “That’s right Kommandant: up and at ‘em!”

Awareness entered Klink’s eyes and he stared up at Hogan, groggy confusion making way for disbelief before twisting into terror. “H-Hogan?”

“Welcome back, sir,” Hogan said lightly, hoping to put the frightened man at ease.

Klink gaped at him—it seemed that he and ‘at ease’ were not on speaking terms. “Was? What are you doing here!” He tried to lift himself up and gasped in pain. Once he recovered, he turned his head to look around. “What’s happened?”

Schultz came to stand beside Hogan. “I’m sorry, Kommandant,” Schultz blurted, upset. “I didn’t know what else to do. General Adler left camp after being here, so I came to check on you, and—”

“And he thought you could use a medic,” Hogan broke in, deciding that, for the sake of Klink’s nerves, the story was better off short. 

“A medic?” Klink repeated, mystified. “Why would I need—?” His face went slack. “You didn’t...” He pulled the blanket up to his neck, like a naked woman who wanted to hide herself. “What-what did you see!”

Schultz took a step back. “I only saw your back, Kommandant. That’s all—I swear!” He awkwardly lowered himself down so his face was level with Klink’s. “It was all blood. I... How could I have just left you here like that?” 

Klink looked equal parts touched and terrified. “Da-danke, Schultz.” He shook his head, terror taking over. “Where is General Adler now? Is he still outside of camp?”

“Ja,” Schultz said. “I have told Unteroffizer Zimmerman to come tell me the minute General Adler returns.”

“Dank sei Gott,” Klink breathed, relived. The tension drained away from him, and he closed his eyes.

“I’d like to take a look at your abdomen, if you don’t mind, Kommandant,” Wilson said in that calming, medic tone he had.

The tone had been a wasted effort on his current patient. Klink’s eyes shot open. “Why?” he asked, his earlier fear making a return appearance.

Wilson’s smile was slightly confused. “You have bruising on your stomach—I just want to make sure that you haven’t ruptured something.”

For a moment, Hogan was certain that Klink would refuse. It would certainly be in character for the new Klink. But then the Kommandant surprised him.

With obvious reluctance, Klink pushed the blanket down to his waist. Now exposed, the bruises Wilson had spoken of stood out clearly.

“Thank you, sir,” Wilson said mildly. “Just tell me if it hurts.”

As Wilson poked around his stomach, Klink’s gaze stayed up towards the ceiling. A few times, he seemed about to look down at what the medic was doing before thinking better of the action. Watching him reminded Hogan of someone who didn’t like needles trying to put a brave face on getting a shot. He found himself wondering at the fear of Wilson’s hands—nothing Wilson was doing seemed to warrant it.

Of course, Klink’s fears these days didn’t seem to adhere to any kind of logic Hogan could see.

Wilson stepped back and looked pleased. “I think we can safely rule out internal bleeding. How did you get those bruises? How long ago?”

Klink pulled the blanket back over himself, shivering. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe from today or yesterday.”

“From what?” Wilson pressed. “It could make a difference, Kommandant.”

Silence. Then: “I was punched in the stomach yesterday. I was kicked in the stomach today.” His words were flat, matter of fact, and, to Hogan, all the more chilling for it.

Hogan saw Wilson raise an eyebrow but the medic was too professional to show any more surprise than that. “Can you tell me what happened to your back?”

“I,” Klink’s indifferent tone cracked, “I … would rather,” he flinched, “I don’t want to say.”

Wilson hmmed but didn’t remark on Klink’s refusal to answer as he dug through his medical kit.

Sergeant Schultz, on the other hand, didn’t want to leave Wilson’s question unanswered. “Did General Adler do this to you, Colonel?” he asked quietly, his tone uncharacteristically dangerous.

Klink stared up at Schultz with a mixture of worry and surprise. “N-no,” he said, his mouth twisting into something that clearly was trying to be but failed utterly at being an honest smile. “This has nothing to do with him. I, ah, I fell.”

Pity and hurt came together on Schultz’s face as he stared down at his commander. Then his expression became firm. “Let me throw him into the cooler. Let me arrest him.”

A bark of bitter laughter. “And then what, Schultz?” Klink shook his head. “You should know better than to think that would be the end of it.” He closed his eyes. “You don’t need to concern yourself—this will be over soon enough.”

“You have to let me do _something_ ,” Schultz said, his tone pleading.

Klink’s smile was sad. “There’s nothing you can do.” He turned his head away from the Sergeant. “If you understood what this was about … you wouldn’t be here.”

Schultz opened his mouth, looking a bit insulted, but before he could say whatever he’d planned to, he was interrupted.

“Found it!” Wilson exclaimed, holding up a paper pouch. He seemed oblivious to the scene he was interrupting, but, whether he actually was or not, Hogan was grateful for the reprieve. “Are you up to taking some pills for me?” he asked, ripping open the pouch to reveal the plastic container inside.

It was as though a switch had been flipped: before Wilson’s question, Klink had seemed calm and, after a fashion, relaxed; after the question, Klink’s eyes flew open and the hands clutching the blanket clenched into tight fists. While it was clear that Wilson’s words were the cause of Klink’s sudden distress, the reason for it was beyond Hogan’s ability to guess.

“What are they?” Klink asked apprehensively, as though worried that the question itself might get him in trouble. 

“Just sulfalomide,” Wilson answered, his easy smile looking strained. “We use this to stop infections—there’s already some on your back, but the pills will offer just a little more protection.”

Klink half shook his head and moved to sit up, a sudden panic in his eyes. “I don’t want them.”

Wilson was definitely annoyed now. Hogan recognized the look, having had it directed at him in the past when the medic thought that _he_ was being unreasonable. “Kommandant—”

“I don’t need them,” Klink interrupted sharply, forcing himself up to a sitting position. His pale face turned ashen from the effort. “I need my clothes.”

Hogan frowned at Klink’s bizarre statement. “You plan on going somewhere, sir?”

Klink glared at him as though he were slow-witted. “He’s not going to believe that I did this,” he gestured to the bandages around his chest, “myself. I need to make this look right, don’t you see?”

While there was no need to ask who ‘he’ was, Hogan was finding the logic hard to follow. “How do you plan on doing that, sir?” he asked, carefully concealing his skepticism under mere curiosity.

“He probably won’t believe that I went to seek help on my own,” Klink admitted, sounding tired. “But he’ll be more likely to believe it if I’m dressed.” A small smile. “A poor lie is better than the truth, I think.”

Wilson, who had not been idle during this exchange, held out the glass of water he’d poured from the pitcher out to Klink. “I might not be a doctor, sir, but I do know my way around emergency care. It’s better to nip infection in the bud than to let it settle in.”

“But I—”

“Schultz can get your clothes together while you take those,” Hogan offered. Klink had a point but Wilson did too. There was no reason why they both couldn’t get their way here.

Klink looked cornered. “But I—” he broke off, suddenly seeming to lose the will to fight them. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Does it matter that I haven’t eaten anything?” he asked quietly as he took the glass from the medic.

“No,” Wilson said, “but you’ll want to drink plenty of water.” He opened the container with the pills. “There are eight of these, and you need to take them all now.”

While Wilson coaxed Klink to take the sulfonamide, Schultz got fresh clothes for the Kommandant out of the dresser. The guard looked upset and angry and, considering what he’d said earlier, it was pretty obvious to whom the feelings were directed. Hogan didn’t think he’d ever seen Schultz angry, period, so this was disturbing, yet novel, experience.

Not that Hogan could fault him for that—Adler seemed to bring this emotion out in people. He would have liked to assure Schultz that Adler would soon be out of the picture, but he couldn’t think of a way how that wasn’t telling more than he should. Schultz was keeping enough secrets at the moment; it seemed unwise to burden him with one more.

Once Schultz had collected Klink’s clothes, he set them on the bed beside the Kommandant. “Here, sir.”

Klink’s weak smile was grateful but wary. “Thank you.” Then he frowned. “Please, look away.”

It seemed to take a long time for the Kommandant to complete the simple operation of getting dressed and, if the low cursing that came from the man was any indication, Klink was very aware of that fact. “All right,” he said at last, panting. “I’m finished.”

Even with his pants and shirt on, he looked uncomfortable with their scrutiny. He looked away from them. “Where are my boots?”

Hogan spied them on the floor and picked them up. He gave them to Klink wordlessly.

A hesitant knock sounded on the door. “Feldwebel Schultz? Sind Sie hier?”

Schultz opened the door just enough to look out of it. The two Germans spoke low and fast but Hogan was able to catch the important part: General Adler had just arrived back in camp. Schultz thanked the Corporal with a salute before ordering the young man back to his post.

“Jawohl!”

Schultz shut the door and turned around. “Do you think he would come here, Kommandant?”

Klink was in the middle of trying to get his feet into his boots without bending over. “I hope not,” he said distractedly, “but trusting in hope hasn’t helped me much these days.” He sighed and struggled to bend down enough to put his feet into his boots properly. “You should take them back to their barracks and leave,” he breathed through grit teeth. “Take them before he catches you here.”

“I should stay,” Schultz said seriously.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Klink disagreed, his tone equally serious. “He has reasons enough to dislike you already. You shouldn’t give him more reasons.” He shook his head, as he tried to get low enough to tie his laces. “Besides that, he outranks you—he outranks me! It is pointless for you to stay just to be ordered to leave.”

“Will you be all right, Kommandant?” Schultz asked, his worry unmistakable.

A faint, wry smile curved Klink’s mouth. “No. But there’s nothing to be done about that now.” He sat up, clearly giving up on tying the boots. “Sergeant, bring the prisoners back to their barracks then return to your post.”

Schultz hesitated for only a moment before he saluted. “Jawohl!”

Before the Sergeant had a chance to follow the order, the door to Klink’s bedroom opened again. “Hallo, Wil—” General Adler broke off and stood in the door way, his face slack with surprise.


	46. Drowning

“Will you be all right, Kommandant?”

Klink was almost amused. Schultz wasn’t nearly stupid enough to believe he’d be getting a ‘yes’ answer to that question. “No. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.” He sat up, unable to bear the pain of bending over like that any longer. Adler wasn’t going to be looking to see if his boots were on properly. “Sergeant, bring the prisoners back to their barracks, then return to your post.”

For a moment, Klink thought Schultz was going to argue before he saluted. “Yes, sir!”

However, before the Sergeant could do as he’d been ordered, the door to Klink’s bedroom swung open. “Hello, Wil—” Adler stopped, his surprise so complete that his mouth hung open in mid-word.

Terror and dread congealed in Klink’s stomach, sending the organ down into his boots. There was no way that this would end well. Klink wanted to tell Schultz to get the prisoners out of here, to not stand there like an idiot, gaping back at Adler. The Sergeant wasn’t armed and, while he probably out-weighed Adler, most of that bulk was not muscle and the guard didn’t have a violent bone in his body besides—if it came down to a fight, Schultz would not win.

Even if Schultz could win, this would be the end of any hope Klink still held of getting out of this either alive or with his reputation intact. Assuming, of course, that Adler himself was unarmed and wouldn’t simply shoot them all. Klink wondered what sort of story Adler would use to cover that crime up.

Hogan, naturally, recovered first. And, naturally, he said something cheeky. “Fancy meeting _you_ here, General.”

Adler’s mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. “Yes. Although, I believe that is what _I_ should be saying.” He set the bag he’d had hung over his arm on the floor and focused his raptor eyes onto Klink. “Why are they here, Klink?”

Klink shrank back from the gaze but forced himself to stand, wincing as the movement jarred his back. He’d never been particularly good at thinking quickly, but he’d already planned this lie and had it in reserve to answer just this question. Still, it was difficult to actually summon up the words with Adler glaring at him like a cobra deciding whether to strike now or later. “I... When I woke up, I, ah, I felt poorly, so I had Sergeant Schultz bring me the prisoners’ medic.”

Adler raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And why is Colonel Hogan here?”

“Oh, well, that’s simple, sir,” Hogan said blithely, drawing Adler’s attention onto himself. “I’m the Senior POW: where my medic goes, I go.”

It was difficult to tell if Adler was accepting this explanation or not. Klink couldn’t help but feel that every new word added to said explanation would bring nothing but more trouble in the long run. Still, there seemed to be little choice but to keep tightening the clamp he’d found himself sitting in. “H-he has a habit of inviting himself along where he’s not wanted.”

Adler ignored him and turned his attention to Schultz. “What did the Kommandant tell you, Sergeant?” It was difficult to be certain but Klink thought he could hear a little fear beneath the terse words.

Schultz saluted, his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. “The Kommandant refused to answer my questions, sir,” he answered, his tone flat with just a hint of frustration. “I know nothing. Nothing!”

Up until this moment, Klink had thought Schultz was as bad a liar as he was. Apparently, he’d been mistaken because, despite the fear in his eyes, Schultz sounded genuinely in the dark. He sounded frustrated, yes, but frustrated that he hadn’t been told anything—not the same frustrated that he couldn’t throw Adler in the cooler as he’d been only minutes ago! Even if Schultz didn’t know everything, he knew a lot more than nothing!

Tilting his head, Adler seemed to consider the Sergeant’s words for a long moment before nodding. “Sergeant, take the prisoners back to the barracks and return to your duties.”

Schultz looked to Klink, uncertain but, amazingly, uncowed. He would stay or leave on Klink’s say so. It was very brave of him, but foolhardy and pointless. The swine already had reasons not to like him, to suspect him; it was not a good idea to give Adler any more excuse to bring his wrath down onto the Sergeant.

Klink nodded slightly, hoping against hope that the action would go unnoticed.

It did not. Adler’s smile flattened into an angry line as he waited for Schultz to usher the two prisoners out of the room. He waited until the door had been closed for a minute before he spoke. “I want that man transferred out, Klink. I want him transferred out now.”

Considering what Adler could demand that he do to the Sergeant, a transfer was nothing short of a relief. Transfers could take a long time and, Colonel Hogan’s optimism aside, Klink probably would not be alive long enough to carry one out. So this, at least, was not worth getting Adler upset about. “Of course, General.”

“I’d expected more of an argument,” Adler said, his expression a strange mixture of suspicious and disappointed. Then he shrugged. “You will call General Burkhalter tomorrow and arrange it.”

That would be difficult to fake if Adler was in the room with him when he called, but not impossible. Klink bowed his head, trying to look defeated. With the pain from his back and his overall weariness, this was not too difficult to pull off.

A hand told hold of his chin and forced his head up into Adler’s face. He was smiling in what he probably thought was a compassionate way, but the man’s amusement was all too obvious to Klink. “You know it’s for the best—any suspicions he has about me, I’ll make _certain_ you are implicated in as well.” His smile widened to reveal his teeth. “Better to get him out of the way before he gets too … curious.”

Klink managed a nod. Perhaps transferring Schultz _would_ be a good idea—the Sergeant didn’t need to be any more involved in this mess than he already was! But, good idea or not, it was all rather moot: either Hogan’s plan for taking care of Adler would be existent with reasonable odds of success or else Klink would be putting _his_ plan into action. Either way, Schultz would be staying at Stalag 13.

“I’m glad that you’re being so … accommodating about this,” Adler said pleasantly even as his smile faded, leaving an enigmatic curve in its place. “It’s a shame you’re about to make me very angry if I’m not mistaken.”

Before he could think of stopping himself, Klink took a step back, freeing his chin from Adler’s hold. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Take of your shirt,” Adler ordered, his tone measured and amazingly calm considering his earlier words.

Klink could only wonder what excuse he was going to give the swine to make him angry. His hands shook as he followed the order; the simple action of unbuttoning a shirt becoming amazingly complicated. Once he’d gotten it unbuttoned, he slipped off the shirt and let it fall to the floor. The loss of protection against the chill was missed immediately. He looked to Adler.

The pure hatred in Adler’s eyes chilled him more than the air. “Tell me, Klink,” he demanded, his falsely pleasant demeanor not up to the task of masking his rage, “why did you seek treatment?”

Having not expected this question, Klink had no answer ready. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that getting treatment would infuriate Adler. Not that he could have done much to prevent it if he _had_ known this information, being unconscious for most of the time the prisoner’s medic had been here. He wondered if there was anything he could say at this point that would defuse the bomb he’d been presented with. He had the sinking feeling that there wasn’t, but he had little choice but to say something anyway. “I … I thought—”

The backhand to Klink’s face was forceful enough to make him stagger back. Unfortunately, since he’d already been up against the bed, he fell, landing hard onto the mattress. A mixture of surprise and pain stole his breath away and he could only lie there, gasping.

Adler was on him in an instant, his eyes blazing. “I own you!” he raged, grabbing Klink by the shoulders and forcing him onto his stomach. “If I want you to bleed,” his fingers dug down beneath the bandages, roughly pulling them up, “you’ll bleed!”

Klink found it hard to catch his breath between the new agony of Adler’s fingers digging into his wounds and the way the bandages were compressing his chest as Adler continued his furious pulling. A part of his mind that wasn’t busy feeling pain and being terrified worried that the bandages would hold up better than he would and that Adler’s efforts would break his ribs.

With a final, savage tug, the bandages came free. Klink did not have time to feel much relief that Adler hadn’t actually broken his ribs (as far as he could tell) because he was very aware of Adler’s weight on his legs and Adler’s hands fumbling around his stomach. He realized Adler’s aim only a moment before his pants were opened.

“I don’t think you appreciate the trouble I’ve gone to for you,” Adler growled as he roughly pulled Klink’s pants over his hips. “Maybe it’s time for me to stop being so nice.” 

It wasn’t terribly difficult to see what this was leading to. The panic that Klink had been holding at bay overtook him, and he started thrashing. He was beyond caring about the pain—all that was important was to get free. He couldn’t just let this happen again!

An unforgiving weight settled onto his hips and hands forced Klink’s wrists down into the mattress. He could hear laughter and words but he couldn’t focus on them. He couldn’t breathe; he was drowning; he had to get out from under this weight.

But it was no use. He wasn’t strong enough and, even if he’d been strong enough, he couldn’t get the right leverage in his current position. Exhaustion and understanding displaced his panic, and Klink’s struggles stilled. He immediately berated himself for losing control like that, for wasting his limited reserves. That had been foolish. He wouldn’t have been able to fight the monster off when he’d been well—had he honestly thought he’d be able to do it _now_?

No, because he hadn’t been thinking at all. Klink closed his eyes. Damn it all to the devil anyway. What difference did one more violation make? Sure, he felt like he was teetering on the edge of the abyss and that it would only take one little push to send him headfirst into oblivion, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, was there?

Adler was still chuckling. “Very energetic! If I didn’t know better,” he leaned in close, his breath warm on Klink’s ear, “I’d think you _didn’t_ enjoy this.”

Bile burned Klink’s throat like the rage burned in his brain, painfully and uncontrollably. There was no fight left in his limbs but his tongue would not be denied its chance to get him into trouble. “You miserable swine!”

Silence. Then, more laughter. “You can call me as many unpleasant names as you like,” Adler teased, sounding genuinely amused by Klink’s outburst, “but it won’t change the truth.” He released Klink’s wrists and slid back off of his hips, coming to rest on Klink’s thighs. “After all,” he went on as he finished what he’d started earlier with Klink’s pants, “if you didn’t want me to do this, you would have given me what I’d asked for.”

As much as the words infuriated him, Klink had no answer he could give to this accusation. At least, no answer that it was safe for him to give. He could hardly explain to Adler that he was going to kill him unless the plan his senior POW had cooked up was actually existent and had somewhat reasonable odds of success! Although, a part of him wondered what the reaction to that bit of news would be. He bit the inside of his mouth, just in case it was tempted to find out.

“You’ve gone all quiet, Wilhelm,” Adler observed, his honeyed tone unable to hide his triumph. His weight abruptly lifted from Klink’s body as he got off the bed. “I must have gotten too close to the mark.”

Before he could stop himself, Klink indicated that Adler should take the nearest staff car and drive it right into hell.

The remark earned him a hard slap across his spine. “A little civility, if you don’t mind,” Adler chided. Then he sighed. “I wonder how many times I’ll have to beat you before you understand what it means to belong to me.” He slapped him again, causing Klink to gasp in pain. “You’re either a masochist,” he complained, “or too stubborn for your own good.”

Klink heard the unmistakable sounds of rustling clothing which heralded the act which was about to come. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing he was anywhere but here, moments away from being violated again. Adler was no longer holding him down, but, like it had been with Hogan and his sergeant this afternoon, there was still no escape for him. From this. Of course, it wasn’t as though this would be the first time—this horror no longer held any surprises for him.

All he had to do was lay there and endure. Considering the circumstances, that ‘all’ was really quite a lot!

“Perhaps,” Adler continued on, musing, “I’ll have to try something different for tomorrow if you still insist on being unreasonable.”

The words brought the thought of agreeing to Adler’s demand for a prisoner now, but Klink brushed it aside easily. Even if he were willing to trade in his soul, he’d have to be much stupider than he was to believe that the swine would stop this now for anything. This was going to happen regardless—he might as well keep the tattered shreds of his integrity intact.

He just wished—

He felt hands coming to rest on his shoulders, and he shuddered in revulsion. No, he wasn’t ready for this! But, instead of Adler climbing on top of him, the hands slid under his arms and pulled him up to sit next to the naked General. An arm slung itself around Klink’s lower back.

A firm hand took hold of his chin and forced him to look up into Adler’s face. The swine’s smile was a twisted parody of tender fondness. “There’s no need to cry,” he said, using his thumb to wipe away tears Klink hadn’t noticed running down his cheek. “This isn’t a punishment—it’s a reminder.” He kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I’ll be gentle with you. I just want what’s mine, and you _are_ mine, aren’t you, Wilhelm?”

A sob burst from Klink’s mouth before he could stop it, before he even knew it would happen. Then it happened again and again, and Klink realized that he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. Mortification at the weakness he was displaying for Adler only had a slight edge over his anger at himself for being so out of control. Still, even though it was difficult to speak now, he knew, as much as he hated it, as much as he despised himself for it, he couldn’t afford to have any more violence inflicted on him. He had to supply the answer to the question before Adler lost patience.

“I … I’m,” he struggled to catch his breath, to force the words out, “yours.” He closed his eyes because they burned and because he didn’t want to see that monster’s face anymore. “Josef.”

The next thing he knew, he was leaning against Adler’s chest, Adler’s arm across his lower back holding him in place. “Shhh,” Adler soothed into his ear as he pressed Klink’s face into his shoulder. “You’ll see it’s not so bad being mine.” 

Klink didn’t have the energy to tense up. Even the panic that came from having so much of Adler’s bare skin touching his faded away—he simply couldn’t maintain it. His rage, his terror, his humiliation were all but drowned beneath his weary despair. He couldn’t fight Adler now. He’d been a fool to ever think for even a moment that he’d be able to resist. Adler had been right. Hogan had been right. He just wasn’t strong enough.

“Once you learn your place, I think you’ll find it quite enjoyable.”

And he understood, as he found himself relaxing in Adler’s hateful embrace, if he waited any longer to implement his plan, he simply wouldn’t have the mental or physical strength to go through with it. There was no more time for Hogan’s excuses. He wouldn’t allow himself to listen to them. He couldn’t afford to let himself be taken in. Tomorrow, he would do what he should have done today, what he should have done yesterday.

“Just stop fighting me, Wilhelm.”

Klink sagged against Adler’s shoulder and surrendered. After everything that had happened to him, he supposed that this was just the dot on top of the i, spending his last night of life allowing himself to be comforted by the man he hated most in the world as his tears finally slowed. In the morning, he was certain that he’d have some harsh words for himself for what he was doing, but, right now, he was simply too exhausted to care.

It was all he could do to keep his eyes open so he closed them. He was aware of Adler’s voice still murmuring empty assurances and hollow comforts but he wasn’t listening to the words. When Adler kissed his cheek before bringing his face up to kiss Klink on the mouth, he barely noticed. Barely cared.

Because tomorrow, he would die and Adler would pay. Tomorrow this would end, no matter _what_ Hogan said.


	47. On Board

Hogan had to admit that he was impressed.

Schultz had managed to wait until he was in Hilda’s office with the door shut safely behind him before he started spitting out angry invectives. It wasn’t too difficult to determine who he was calling all the interesting names, and Hogan was glad that the German was content to merely rant. If Schultz had wanted to do something a bit more physical to Adler, it would have ended any hopes Hogan held of getting this mess resolved without further complications.

Because, goodness knew, he didn’t have nearly _enough_ complications as it was!

“Feel better, Schultz?” Hogan asked mildly once the guard had finished.

Schultz glared at him for a moment before his tense shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Nein. But I will follow orders, ja?” He shrugged in a way that failed to hide his discomfort with the idea. “The Big Shot does not want me to get involved, so I will not get involved.” He shook his head, as though to clear it, and made a game attempt to hide his unease. It was only partially successful. “I think we could all use some sleep.”

While this statement was no doubt true, once Schultz had deposited Hogan and Wilson in Barracks 2, Hogan felt oddly energized. Even though most of what needed to be done was done already, there were a few last minute details that could not wait. Adler was far too volatile to wait until the day after tomorrow even if Klink could keep holding out tonight. He wished there had been some way of telling Klink to just agree to what Adler wanted, but with the General right there, it just hadn’t been possible. He wondered if Klink would forgive him tomorrow for putting him through what had happened tonight.

But before he worried too much about tomorrow, there was something he had to take care of. Quickly, he ushered Sergeant Wilson into his office. He shut the door behind him before turning his attention to the medic. In the low light, Hogan could just about make out the other man’s troubled expression.

“He’s been raped, hasn’t he?”

Hogan saw no point in denying it, although, he had to admit that he was more than a little surprised. “How did you know?”

Wilson shook his head, looking slightly insulted. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out, sir. The bruising on his hips was a pretty clear clue, as well as his other injuries—never mind the mess on his back! Besides that, he seemed more afraid of General Adler than he was of the fact that he’d been found out.” He shrugged. “So, I’d wager that whatever he and Adler have been doing, it hasn’t been consensual.”

“Blackmail,” Hogan confirmed. “It started a few days ago.”

“I see,” Wilson said softly, sounding sickened. Then he shook his head. “No wonder the Kommandant went into shock—I’m sure the whipping or whatever happened to his back was just the icing on the cake.”

“Klink told me he has trouble walking without a painkiller,” Hogan offered, deciding that this was information Wilson might need to know if he agreed to help later. “He said that he wasn’t physically well because of what … he and Adler have been doing.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Wilson said thoughtfully. “We are talking about an exit being used as an entrance—even if both parties are careful and keen on the idea, there’s still some risk to it.” He frowned and continued with a mixture of disapproval and disgust in his voice. “Considering the circumstances, I don’t think Adler is being that careful or that Klink is that keen.”

Frankly, Hogan was amazed at how nonchalant the medic was being. He wasn’t disappointed not to have another Newkirk to deal with by any means, but this blasé reaction hadn’t been what he’d expected at all. “Sounds like you know a lot about this sort of thing.”

Wilson’s expression became abruptly guarded. “I only know as much as any other medic does.” The words were clipped, and there was something almost nervous in his eyes. “You, uh, come across this sort of thing from time to time, you know?”

This sudden nervousness seemed strange and very out of place after the easy discussion of the subject less than five seconds ago. Hogan wondered what it meant. “Is that right?”

A quick nod. “Oh, yes. You find all kinds of stupid kids in the army who are bored and lonely and don’t have the first idea of what the heck they’re doing.” He shrugged, turning his head away. “Sometimes, it’s better to try a medic and get a ribbing than go to a doctor and get a discharge.”

Hogan could feel the pieces coming together. “I take it you were a medic they could go to.”

Wilson’s mouth formed a hard line. “Would it make a difference to you if I was?”

The defiance was perplexing, to say the least. Did Wilson honestly expect Hogan to take him to task for doing what he’d implied he’d done _here_? _Now_? Even if Hogan had cared about whatever Wilson had done before he’d come to Stalag 13, he’d have to be a fool to effectively get rid of the only medic they had! “Actually,” Hogan said, smiling to put Wilson at ease, “it does. You see, I could use someone who knows about this kind of injury right now.”

This seemed to throw the Sergeant off, as though he’d been expecting a certain response and that that response hadn’t been this. “Colonel Klink?” he asked at last.

Hogan nodded. “If I can get Klink to let you examine him, could you tell me if he’s seriously injured?”

Wilson hesitated. “I could,” he confirmed at last, “but if the injury is too bad, I won’t be able to do much for him. I’m a medic—not a surgeon!”

That much was as Hogan had expected. “We’ll have to burn that particular bridge when we come to it.” Of course, this whole conversation was making the very big assumption that Hogan would be able to convince Klink to let the medic look at him. He put the odds of success on that front somewhere between ‘very unlikely’ and ‘completely impossible’, but he might as well be prepared for it in case he happened to get incredibly lucky. “Would you be willing to examine him?”

Wilson took a moment to consider it before nodding. “You know me, sir,” he smiled slightly, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Hogan returned the smile and clapped him on the arm. “Thanks, Wilson. I knew I could count on you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As Hogan watched Wilson leave, he had the oddest feeling the words were a request.


	48. Schultz's Choice

Schultz couldn’t believe he was doing this but here he was, standing outside of Barracks Two after roll call, gearing himself up to ask the Senior POW for help. It seemed his choices were either doing that or waiting for his commander to be killed. Last night had been insane, and, if General Adler hadn’t been with the Gestapo and if Schultz wasn’t so certain that he’d been having sex with the Kommandant, Schultz would have thrown the man in the cooler himself after seeing the state of the Kommandant’s back over Klink’s protests. As it was … as it was, there was nothing he could do and no one he could go to officially that wouldn’t take the Big Shot down as well.

Which was why he was here.

“Ah, Sergeant Schultz!” Hogan greeted enthusiastically as he walked out of the Barracks. “I was hoping to run into you. You’re on duty tonight, aren’t you?”

Schultz nodded stupidly, off-kilter from Hogan’s bright attitude. “I am, but—”

“That’s perfect,” Hogan interrupted, his smile growing wider as he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a chocolate bar and toyed with it idly as he spoke. “I need a big favor tonight, and you’re the only one who can help me.”

Schultz opened his mouth to start protesting that whatever it was would be his life but he shut it quickly. If whatever it was Hogan wanted him to do was something he could do, he could ask for Hogan’s help in return. It said something about his state of mind that the chocolate bar Hogan was toying with barely registered. “What is it?”

Hogan looked momentarily surprised. “Well, it would just make things easier if everyone here was accounted for. Especially since Colonel Klink and General Adler are going to be out of camp.”

The Kommandant and Adler were leaving camp tonight? Together? For what reason? And why would Hogan, of all people, know about it when no one had been to see the Kommandant yet? And … and why would things be easier if everyone was accounted for?

“You are expecting trouble, Colonel?” Schultz asked instead of the other questions he’d thought of, unsure if he actually wanted an answer to this one either.

Hogan shrugged, holding out the chocolate, not quite inviting Schultz to take it. “You never know. I just prefer to have my bases covered.” He waved the candy enticingly. “What do you say?”

Well, it wasn’t as though he was being asked to do something crazy and illegal. This time. “Ja, I will do it, but—”

“Thanks, Schultz,” Hogan said happily as he placed the chocolate bar in Schultz’s hand. “I knew I could count on you.” He turned to go back into the Barracks.

Schultz felt as though his chance to do what he’d come to was slipping through his fingers. “Hogan, wait!”

Hogan turned back, slightly impatient. “What is it?”

“I need your help!” he burst out, perhaps unwisely loud.

The prisoner winced and looked around quickly. “I don’t see what _I_ can do for you,” he said, his voice raised. Then he stepped closer with a frown. “What’s the matter with you?” he hissed.

Schultz ducked his head down and made an effort to speak more softly. “I’m _sorry_ , Hogan, but I don’t have time to play with you today.”

Still frowning, Hogan made a curt ‘follow me’ gesture before walking back into the Barracks. Once they had arrived at Hogan’s office and Schultz had shut the door, Hogan crossed his arms. “Well?”

Although what he’d told Hogan last night had been fairly damning on its own and though the American was no doubt smart enough to put the pieces he’d been giving together, Schultz wasn’t sure what to say to him. Might as well get to the point. “The Big Shot is in trouble.”

Hogan’s annoyed expression became inscrutable. “What kind of trouble?”

As though he didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble he was talking about! Still, Schultz hesitated. This was his last chance to leave the status quo unchanged. There would be no turning back after asking for the prisoners’ help for something so big. But he had no other choice. It was either this or waiting for his commander to be beaten to death. “The kind of trouble you saw last night. The Kommandant … he will be discharged if I bring in the authorities to help him.”

Something flared in Hogan’s eyes but it was gone before Schultz could guess what it was. “And you’d like _me_ to do something about that eagle that’s been roosting here for the last week?”

“Eagle?” Schultz asked, surprised by the nonsense when Hogan looked so serious. And, after what _he’d_ seen last night, he should realize who, at least, was the source of the Big Shot’s trouble! “There has been no eagle here, Hogan. It’s the middle of January!”

Hogan sighed, shaking his head. “Are you Germans always this literal minded? Think—are you _sure_ there hasn’t been an eagle here?”

Schultz had been about to insist that he would have noticed an eagle when he realized that there _had_ been an eagle hanging around: _General Adler_. “Oh! Yes,” he said, proud that he had figured out the riddle. “The Big Shot is having eagle trouble. Lot’s of eagle trouble. It has been a mess—”

“I understand,” Hogan said, holding his hand up for silence. “Eagles can be tricky.” He rubbed his eyes, tired. After a moment, he lowered his hand and nodded. “I couldn’t possibly help you,” he said flatly as he walked out of the room. He paused long enough for Schultz to catch up with him before he continued walking. “I’m just a prisoner—I can’t imagine what a member of the _master_ race would need from _me_.”

Schultz felt his face scrunch up in distaste as he followed the Senior POW out into the open air. As though _he’d_ ever said anything to Hogan about the superiority of his heritage! “Hogan—”

“What I’m _saying_ is that I couldn’t possibly help anyone.” Once they were away from the door, he turned to face Schultz. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that Schultz had to strain to hear him. “I think that the best thing _you_ can do is just let this eagle business run its course, and _not_ raise any objections if the Kommandant and General Adler decide to break a few regulations tonight to take a prisoner out of camp for whatever half-baked reason Adler’s come up with for doing it.” He smiled and clapped Schultz on the arm. “Just do those roll calls and everything will be fine. I have a feeling that eagle is going to fly away very soon.”

Before Schultz could ask for any kind of clarification, the American had disappeared back inside the Barracks.

He stood there for a while, considering going after Hogan, before deciding that that would get him nowhere. Besides, he thought as he walked towards the mess to pick up the Kommandant’s breakfast, he’d already gotten an answer, of sorts, to his plea for help. True, he didn’t know what Hogan knew and how he knew it and what exactly the Senior POW had in mind for tonight, but, as always, these were things that he didn’t want or need to know. He was happy enough to know that _something_ was going to be done—he didn’t need to know _what_ or _how_.


	49. Convert

Hogan draped his jacket on the chair in his office before taking a seat. He hadn’t been expecting Schultz to ask for his help, although maybe he should have. After how angry and disturbed the guard had been last night, it had been somewhat shortsighted to believe that the man would actually stay out of it. Sure, that’s the way the German _usually_ handled things, but the situation now was rather extraordinary. And with everything Schultz _hadn’t_ seen, he had at least _some_ idea of what Hogan and his men could do.

With any luck the guard’s worries were now laid to rest. As long as he did the rolls and didn’t object to Klink’s and Adler’s outing, there would be nothing to worry about on the ‘home front’. His alibi for Hochstetter’s inevitable accusations would be in place, and Adler would be where he needed to be. Maybe there hadn’t been a need to be cryptic about what he hoped would happen tonight, but, well, if Hogan was going to share _everything_ with the Germans, what was the point of _having_ a covert operation?

But then, it wasn’t _Schultz_ that Hogan was concerned about sharing information with. After the fiasco the night before, Klink would no doubt demand straight, honest answers—anyone would want something solid after going through that!—but Hogan didn’t know if he could justify the risks. Could he, with good conscience, risk the integrity of his operation, the lives of his men, and the lives that he would be saving in the future, on the Kommandant’s clearly fragile mental state?

How would Klink react to the news that Hogan had the resources to stage an ambush (with full enemy uniforms for people that weren’t even from camp), hold Adler for some time, and then spirit him away to London for the duration of the war? Before this mess with Adler, ‘Not well’ would have been an understatement. Now? After everything?

Hogan had no idea and it worried him. As he’d told Klink himself, he had no idea how the man would react to anything anymore. Did he really want one more uncertainty added to the _mountain_ of uncertainties this plan was already plagued with? Would he have the luxury of that choice?

If Klink didn’t accept the cover plan... 

Hogan would have to decide which bridges to burn.

He’d been about to turn on the coffee pot, so he would know the moment that Klink entered his office, when there came a knock. He pulled his hand away from the device with a small shrug. Surely, it was far too early to expect the man there anyway. “It’s open!”

Corporal LeBeau edged around the door. His smile was strained, as though he had several things on his mind and none of them were pleasant. “ _Colonel_ , may I come in?”

“Of course,” Hogan said brightly, hoping to put the Frenchman at ease. “What can I do for you?”

LeBeau shut the door behind him as he stepped inside. “What happened with Wilson last night? I mean, what really happened?”

Hogan had already fielded this question with the answer that the visiting General needed to have a bunion removed from an embarrassing place. While this had appeased the other men, obviously, LeBeau had been unconvinced. Seeing as LeBeau was in the know about the rest of this mess, there seemed to be no reason not to tell him the truth. “Schultz found Klink unconscious on his bedroom floor and figured that he probably shouldn’t get anyone who would ask uncomfortable questions involved.”

“What was the matter with him?” LeBeau asked, as though uncertain he actually wanted to know.

“He’d been whipped,” Hogan said frankly. “His back was a mess, but Wilson said that it wasn’t too serious.”

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” LeBeau breathed. “General Adler did that to him?”

Hogan nodded. “Apparently, Klink decided not to hand over a prisoner and Adler made him pay for it.” The guilt over his own part in the outcome of that twisted his gut. “There hadn’t been a way to tell him to just agree.”

LeBeau’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “He went through that for us?” Not giving Hogan a chance to respond, he shook his head. “Perhaps I have not been fair to him.” He met Hogan’s gaze. “What do _you_ think about, well, everything? Do you agree with Kinch? Or with Peter?”

It was a difficult question to answer concisely, even though he’d come to a measure of peace with what he thought about it. Still, Hogan was used to coming up with answers quickly. “It’s taken me a while to come around to this opinion, but I do think that Kinch is more right than Newkirk—his predictions for Klink’s behavior have been right on target, from what I’ve seen.” Then, he turned the question back onto the Frenchman. “Who do you agree with?”

“I am not sure,” LeBeau said slowly, clearly considering what he was going to say. “Before, I would have said that I more agreed with Peter. Even if the Kommandant didn’t want to, to sleep with that General, Kinch was making too much of it, calling it rape. It’s only sex.” His half shrug was accompanied by a half smile. “The Kommandant does not have much luck with the ladies and, well, Adler is handsome enough. He should be glad someone is interested.”

His smile died as heat entered his eyes. “I don’t care much for the boche. I don’t _like_ the boche. I _hate_ them. But, when I heard Klink and that General together,” he shuddered, “it was very difficult to listen to.” He looked down at his hands. “And now, _we_ are involved in this. And I think of Peter and what happens if those _singes_ fail us.” The nervous motion of his fingers as he fiddled with the end of his scarf conveyed his distress. “I … I don’t think it would only be sex for Peter.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Hogan agreed quietly. He’d had this thought himself—of course he had!—but it hit him more hearing it spoken aloud by someone else. Not for the first time, he wished that there had been some other group to tap besides the Simeons. But there simply wasn’t the time.

“I have tried to talk to him,” LeBeau continued as if he hadn’t heard, “but he will not talk to me about this.” He looked at Hogan with helpless eyes. “Can’t you order Peter not to go?” Then he seemed to realize what he was implying. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you either, _Colonel_ , but—”

“But it’s my plan.” Hogan allowed himself a tired smile as he shook his head. “You know better than that, Louis. He’d take it as an insult, and he’d be right to.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to offer him an out, but whether he’ll accept it or not...” he trailed off with a wry smile. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

“I know,” LeBeau said with slight amusement. Then he frowned, abruptly annoyed. “He’s down in the tunnels with André, still working on clothes for the mission.”

“Still?” Hogan couldn’t believe it. “He’s been working on those since yesterday afternoon!”

A frustrated shrug. “That is what he told me after Roll Call, when you went off to find Schultz.” He crossed his arms. “I think he lied to me.”

That sounded much more likely than the idea that Newkirk needed more than ten hours to work on fitting five uniforms. “I’ll see to him after I get the Kommandant sorted out.” Hogan nodded towards the door. “Why don’t you go catch the Tournament? It’s into day two, isn’t it?”

The distraction didn’t work.

“ _Oui_.” His expression was still troubled. “Is, is there another plan? A back-up plan?”

“Of sorts.” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but Hogan knew that if he shared he details with LeBeau, it would do nothing to alleviate the Frenchman’s worries. He put his hat on and summoned a confident air. “It won’t come down to that though.” He offered LeBeau a dark grin. “Those jokers know if they don’t deliver the goods, we’ll make sure they regret it.”

This remark seemed to cheer LeBeau considerably. “ _Oui, Colonel_.” His smile softened. “I will be at the tournament if you need me.”

Hogan watched him go and waited until the door closed behind him before he sighed. Relying on those simpletons was the worst part of this. Even the risks of sharing the details of the plan with Klink paled in comparison with the risk he was taking by balancing the success or failure of the mission on them. If only there was more time!

But there wasn’t, and it was silly to waste what time he had bemoaning that fact.

Of course, it was largely due to the Simeons that he wished he _could_ order Newkirk to stand down. Which was the one thing he couldn’t do. As he’d told LeBeau, he couldn’t just tell Newkirk that the offer for volunteers had been rescinded. Newkirk would think that Hogan didn’t trust him or didn’t think he’d be able to handle the mission. His personal worries aside, Hogan knew Newkirk was a professional—there was no need to insult the man by suggesting otherwise. Besides, the Corporal was a grown man who knew the risks—knew that his safety would be in the hands of a mentally unstable Kommandant and seven incompetents—and he had chosen to volunteer anyway.

Hogan just wished he could understand why. At least then, he’d know where to start when he asked Newkirk to let him go instead. But he didn’t understand it. The Englishman had made it all too clear what he thought about this Klink mess, and, considering the fact that he’d been the one to ask whose butt was on the line with this plan, it didn’t make much sense to think that he’d volunteered to take _Hogan’s_ place.

Oh, why had Kinch opened this up to volunteers! And why had _he_ entertained the notion rather than shooting it down immediately?

 _Because_ , he answered himself as he switched on the coffee pot, _I hadn’t expected any of them to actually take me up on it!_

“Don’-don’t shout at me,” Klink’s tinny voice begged. “I-I can’t take shouting right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Schultz apologized.

Looked like Klink was in. Hogan had been in the process of pulling on his coat when he heard Schultz ask something that told him he needed to hurry. He didn’t wait for Klink’s answer before switching the bug off. Whatever answer the Kommandant gave was unimportant considering the question.

He forced himself to maintain a normal pace as he exited the barracks—there was no need to alert the few men who were still present that something out of the ordinary was going on. However, once he was out in the open air, he broke into a run. The time was running out, and he could not afford to be late.


	50. The Mourning After

Klink’s eyes snapped open, the nightmare just on the edge of his remembering. If he tried, he’d be able to call it back from the nothing it was fading into but he didn’t want to try. The way his heart was pounding in his ears and the damp spots on his pillow told him that he didn’t want to know what his subconscious had found to torture him with.

He lay his head back down on the pillow with a sigh, trying to soak up at least the physical comfort he was feeling even if his mind was in turmoil. It seemed like a long time since he’d felt this comfortable, even with his back and hips aching the way they were. He was warm beneath his blankets and the mattress was soft beneath him.

Mattress? Klink frowned and turned his head so he could look to his side. He was in his room, not the living room. Which meant … he was lying in his bed.

As soon as the realization washed over him, he felt himself tense up. Memories of what had happened in this bed—what Adler had done to him assailed him. He could almost feel Adler’s arms around him, could almost feel the other man’s heat as Adler pulled him close.

_“You’re shivering, Wilhelm,” Adler cooed into his ear. “I know how to keep you warm.”_

Klink’s breath caught in his throat, and he moved quickly, throwing off the blanket and forcing himself to sit up. His body protested the sudden movement strenuously, so strenuously that his vision swam and he felt faint. Taking great gulps of air, he feared that he would hyperventilate but he couldn’t control his reaction. Eventually, though, his heart returned to his rib cage and the world came back into focus.

Looking down at himself, he was disgusted to find that he was naked and still covered with last night’s filth. He recalled why before he could even wonder. Last night ... the actual act with Adler was difficult to recall—between his exhaustion and the pain of it, he’d fainted several times. But, when it had been over, instead of leaving, Adler had decided that Klink looked cold and that the fastest way to warm him up was to cuddle with him.

Frankly, Klink was stunned that he’d been able to fall asleep with that beast wrapped around him, but apparently he had because he’d woken up here.

 _But why be stunned?_ a part of his mind whispered darkly. _You accepted his comfort easily enough before that._ He bowed his head, conceding the fact. There were many things he could blame that surrender on, but none of them seemed like anything other than a poor excuse. It was several minutes of weakness at best. At worst—

He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling his stomach twist painfully in a way that suggested that it wasn’t due to his latest bout of self-loathing. The distress over this new physical pain was fleeting as he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. An insane urge to laugh gripped him: between his stomach cramps, his thirst, his earlier dizziness, and his regrets about the night before, he felt like he was having a hangover. It only seemed unfair to feel like that without having had the night of drinking to go with it.

The pitcher of water was still on his bedside table. Something about its presence there nudged at his brain, but Klink had other matters to attend to first. He poured himself a glass and drained it within seconds. The thirst didn’t abate until after he’d drunk three glasses worth. His stomach was no longer twisting but he felt a little nauseous from having drunk so much so quickly. He stared down at the now empty glass and felt a prickling of fear. This was strange and new, and he definitely didn’t like it!

Setting the glass down beside the pitcher, he frowned. Something about it... His eyes widened. That’s what the pitcher had made him think of!

Those pills. Those pills that Sergeant Wilson had made him take. What had the American medic poisoned him with! Klink shook his head slowly, willing his panic to come back under control. It hadn’t been poison. After all the effort Hogan was going to to keep him from killing himself, it simply didn’t make any sense that he would just have his medic murder him. Those pills were probably exactly what Wilson had said they were: something to stop infection.

With everything that had been happening to his body lately, Klink supposed that being thirsty wasn’t so much to endure for protection against a very serious complication. Thinking about the possibility of infection, he wondered how clean the wounds on his back were after Adler’s tantrum had left them exposed all night. His back burned and sent spikes of pain through him whenever he twisted himself but he didn’t know if that was a sign of a more serious problem or not.

Of course, serious problem or not, infected or not, it was all rather moot now. He was going to die today. Klink wanted to shy away from the thought but he forced himself to face it. He was going to die today, and Adler was going to die first. With any luck, he’d be able to get it done before Hogan came to pester him with his excuses and empty promises. If not, then he would simply have to be prepared to hold out against Hogan’s charm and guile.

Klink took a moment to consider it before shaking his head. It would hardly be simple—the American was crafty and a magnificent liar to boot. But Klink couldn’t afford to let Hogan trick him into waiting any longer. It was time to do what had to be done! Perhaps if he told whatever guard he had in his office to personally take Hogan back to his barracks?

Looking down at himself, he shuddered with disgust. He had to get this filth off of him before he did anything. He wasn’t going to die with Adler on his skin. And, in a stroke of luck, at least the swine’s tantrum meant that he’d be able to take a shower without worrying about wet bandages.

He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet. Lightheaded again, Klink wondered if he’d be able to walk to the bath at all. He took a tentative step forward (more of a stagger than anything). When that didn’t send him to the floor, he took another. He felt stiff, like he had stretched his muscles too much and now they protested further use. It was also painful, and he walked over to his bureau to pick up his ‘medicine.’

The few Eukadol that had been piled there were missing. A quick glance downward proved that they hadn’t simply fallen down; they’d been taken. The culprit wasn’t too difficult to figure out—no doubt Adler had taken them to punish him for his defiance. Klink grit his teeth and told himself, as he staggered past the bureau to the bathroom, that he didn’t need them anyway.

A sudden bout of dizziness struck him, and he leaned against the door-frame of the bathroom so he didn’t fall over. Closing his eyes against the blur the world had become, he took deep breaths, willing the vertigo to pass. Damn it! How could he expect to be able to pull off his plan and confront Adler if he couldn’t manage to walk five feet without a break? Once the world felt stable again, he held out a hand in front of him and watched the small, uncontrollable tremors running through it in dismay. How could he aim a pistol with shaking hands?

Klink formed the trembling hand into a trembling fist. He’d make do. He’d have to. This trouble he was currently having was exactly the reason why he couldn’t wait on Hogan anymore. Perhaps he’d waited too long already. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to take the swine down with him as he’d planned. Perhaps he, Klink, would be the only one to die today.

He shook his head. If that’s how it had to be, that’s how it would be. At least he would die with a clear conscience. Not that he wasn’t disappointed by the thought of being the only one to die, but he understood that his current cause was more important than his vengeance. But perhaps, he’d be in a better physical condition by the time he finished his shower and he wouldn’t have to abandon his original plan.

Klink shook his head again, trying to chase away the thoughts. He was thinking too far ahead. One thing at a time. Taking a shower and getting dressed before Schultz arrived. Then he could worry about the state of his plans. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as hopeless as he feared.

And, perhaps, pigs would learn to fly.

* * *

It had been a short shower, mostly due to the fact that having water and soap make contact with his back had been agonizing. Drying off hadn’t been much better, but at least by this time he’d been clever enough to leave his back alone. He’d found that he was staggering with slightly more ease as he’d made his way out to the bureau to get some clothes. At least, he hadn’t had to take a break.

Actually getting dressed proved to be much more difficult and painful than Klink had expected. He had been in tears by the time he’d finished with his pants and boots but he’d managed it, all the same. He was just finishing buttoning his shirt when there came a hesitant knock at the bedroom door.

“Come in.” Klink was proud that his voice didn’t betray his trepidation.

Schultz entered the room, looking nearly as uncomfortable as Klink felt. He saluted. “All prisoners accounted for, sir.”

Klink acknowledged the news with a curt nod. It had been easier before, he decided as he watched Schultz watch him. Before last night, he’d known where he stood with the Sergeant: Schultz was a subordinate who neither required nor deserved any explanation. Even though Klink often looked to him when he thought he was going insane, he and Schultz were not friends. Allies, often. Comrades, of course. Frequently annoyed by each other, definitely. Friends, never.

But now, with what the Sergeant knew, with what he’d seen … it wasn’t the same. Would probably never be the same. He was honestly touched and grateful that the man had cared enough about his welfare to seek help from a source that wasn’t likely to get him thrown in prison. He was, even if the Sergeant’s help _had_ incited Adler to violence.

However, there was a part of him that resented this new … intimacy forced on them by having his bleeding, naked, unconscious body discovered by the Sergeant. It was fairly embarrassing and disturbing to contemplate!

But, more disturbing than that, was the soft but persistent whispering from his depraved brain. Even though Schultz had claimed to have only looked at his back, Klink’s paranoia would not let him quite believe it. It would not let him quite believe that Schultz had found him alone and defenseless and _hadn’t_ taken advantage of the situation. That he hadn’t taken the opportunity to touch him. To do more than touch him.

Klink shuddered and hugged himself tightly. No. No. No. Schultz wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He … he was staring. Klink stared back, feeling his heart slam against his breastbone. Schultz’s eyes were moving along his body, examining him. Watching. Waiting for his moment to strike.

He tasted bile.

“Kommandant?” Schultz approached him, the leer on his face perfectly concealed by a concerned frown but somehow still there.

Klink screwed his eyes shut, as though shutting them might stop what he feared was about to happen from happening. “Don’t. Oh, please don’t,” he begged, beyond caring that he was doing so. He couldn’t take this. Not now. Not from Schultz. He waited for hands to take hold of him. He waited for the bulk of the man to press into him, to crush him. And waited.

Cautiously, he cracked open his eyes.

Schultz was standing about four feet away from him. His face was pale. His expression was bewildered, worried, and held no trace of a leer. His hands were in his pockets. “Sir?” he asked timidly. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

Klink turned his gaze to the floor, unable to look at the man, ashamed of what he’d been thinking about him. He knew, _knew_ , that Schultz wasn’t capable of what his paranoia was accusing him of. Schultz wasn’t Adler. Schultz would never _be_ Adler. Schultz _could_ never be Adler. Schultz simply didn’t have it in him to do what Adler had done: not last night when he’d been senseless and not now.

Why didn’t that matter? _Why_?

“Please leave me, Sergeant.” Klink made no effort to hide how brittle he felt under the weight of his thoughts. He saw Schultz opening his mouth, and he interrupted the man before he could speak. “Please.”

Schultz’s face was a rictus of agonized indecision. After what seemed like entirely too long, he nodded. “Yes, sir.” His salute was slow and uncertain.

Kink returned it and watched the Sergeant leave with a strange mixture of relief and remorse. While being out of that man’s presence had done a lot to set Klink’s heart beating normally again, Klink hated that being out of that man’s presence had done a lot to set his heart beating normally again. When had he become such a coward? It was disgusting! It would be bad enough if it was just being around Schultz that did this to him—at least then, he could solve the problem easily enough by transferring Schultz to a new Stalag. But it wasn’t just Schultz, and if he sent away every man who made his heart beat itself into exhaustion, he was certain that, fairly soon, the only people in camp would be he and Hilda.

It was annoying how much of him wished that the idea wasn’t as impossible as it was ridiculous. Not that it was going to be an issue for much longer: he was going to die today, after all. He wondered, as he put on his uniform jacket, whether or not that thought was supposed to be reassuring.

When he left his room, he found that breakfast was waiting for him on the table. Apparently, Schultz had decided to get him breakfast before giving him the results of the roll. Steam rose from the hot food and, for a mess hall breakfast, it looked very fine. He kept walking. Assuming he’d be able to force himself to eat it in the first place, Klink doubted that it would do him much good. He certainly wasn’t going to need the energy!

Since he was still having trouble getting around, he would merely wait for Adler to come to him. The swine would probably come early in hopes of forcing his hand for tonight, and when he did, Klink would be ready for him.

The only thing Klink regretted about this plan was that, unless he was very quick about it, Fraulein Hilda would probably enter his office in time to see him shoot himself. But there was nothing else he could do about that except for trying to be very quick about it. Either way, the poor girl would still be the first one to see their corpses. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

He’d been about to leave his quarters when he heard a panicked, female voice coming from the other side of the door. Being a camp full of men, odds were good that it was Hilda’s voice. But what was she so panicked about? Cautiously, he opened the door to find Fraulein Hilda waving a piece of creased paper in Schultz’s face.

“Where is he! We’ve got to stop him!”

Klink was not certain what this was about or who Hilda wanted to stop or what she wanted to stop this mystery man from doing. What he did know was that he was in no condition to deal with shouting right now. Best to get to the bottom of this and get the both of them out of his office before Adler arrived. “What is the matter?”

Hilda spun around to look at him, her face going slack with relief. His eyes were drawn to the paper in her hand, and he realized that it looked very familiar.

He’d known there was something he’d forgotten.


	51. Note to Plan

Despite spending many hours thinking about her boss’s situation and about what her boss had turned out to be, Hilda still felt a bit of trepidation as she entered the office building. Should she act like nothing had changed? Did she try talking to him again? Find out if he’d broken it off with Adler like he said he would?

Maybe she should wait for him to come to her, if it turned out that he needed to.

Hilda turned on the lights. Since she’d been ushered out the door so quickly the other day, her unfiled work should still have been splayed out on the desktop. Instead, the papers were neatly stacked on the corner of the desk and her notepad in the middle with a pen laying on it, as though someone had been using them.

She frowned as she sat down, wondering what else had been touched. Generally speaking, she liked to keep things just so, so the fact that someone had taken it upon themselves to rearrange things annoyed her a little. Glancing at the papers, she sighed as she realized that whoever had stacked them had put them completely out of order. Well, at least she couldn’t complain of having nothing to do this morning!

She’d just about finished sorting the papers and was putting her pad back into the desk drawer when Sergeant Schultz came in. He had the look of a man who’d had a heavy weight taken off his shoulders. Hilda felt instantly suspicious. “What’s happened, Sergeant?”

Schultz was momentarily taken aback, and then he smiled at her. “I will tell you after I see the Kommandant—I have waited too long to give him the results of the roll as it is.” Then he held up the plate of food he was holding. “Besides, his breakfast will get cold.”

Hilda did her best to hide her disappointment. “All right.” She watched him leave and waited until the door had shut behind him before she let herself pout. Being out of the loop was doubly frustrating when _she_ was the one who had _created_ the loop in the first place.

She’d been about to close her desk drawer when something that didn’t belong caught her eye, a piece of paper tucked into the side, an envelope. She took hold of it with a frown and pulled it free. Looking at the top, she saw her name written on it. Having forged his handwriting and signature so often, she could tell right away that her boss had addressed this envelope to her. Strange. Why would he be hiding letters in her desk? If he’d wanted her to know something, why had he hidden it? If he hadn’t wanted her to find it, why had he written it in the first place?

Hilda took her letter opener and cut through the envelope. Maybe she could get some answers from the contents. A note and some money. Payment for the extra work she’d been doing, perhaps? She frowned as she looked at the amount—it seemed like far too much for that. Maybe the note would explain.

She unfolded the note. Or, more accurately, the letter.

> _Dear Fraulein Hilda,_
> 
> _I want you to know that this is not your fault._ (Hilda narrowed her eyes. What was “this”?) _I know it seems extreme, but it is the only way._ (Whatever the Colonel was talking about, he was being awfully circumspect about it.) _Thank you for your kindness and your loyalty._

The note continued on, asking Hilda to tell Schultz to tell Hogan something and asking her to buy wallpaper, but she only skimmed it. Her brain was too busy parsing the first part of the note. What didn’t he want her to blame herself for? What exactly was he going to do that would seem extreme? Or, rather, what had he done? And why was he thanking her like he wasn’t … 

… like he wasn’t going to see her again.

Her hand crumpled the note as she realized the meaning of those pained words yesterday. Of course he wouldn’t regret it—he wouldn’t be _around_ to regret it. And she absolutely did not have time to sit there being shocked! She had to stop him. Before it was too late!

If it wasn’t too late already.

However, when she entered Klink’s office, she found Sergeant Schultz shutting the door to Klink’s quarters. He seemed startled by her sudden presence but he didn’t look like someone who had just witnessed the aftermath of a suicide. He gaped at her. “Fraulein, what’s the matter?”

“Is the Colonel all right?” she demanded, not caring that she sounded a little crazed. There were more important things to be concerned with at the moment!

Schultz held up his hands, as though to ward her off. “As all right as he has been lately,” he said sourly. “What’s the matter?”

Hilda waved the note she still held in her hand in the Sergeant’s face. “We have to stop him!”

The bewilderment of the man’s expression would have been amusing under very different circumstances. He opened his mouth but, before he had a chance to say whatever it was he’d planned, another voice interrupted him.

“What’s going on?”

That voice. Hilda looked behind Schultz to see the man who had spoken, feeling such relief she thought she might cry. Before she could think of what she was doing, she went to the Colonel and hugged him tightly. “Thank God.”

She felt him stiffen in her grasp, and she remembered too late how little her boss like physical contact these days. Quickly, she stepped back, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but when she saw his ashen face, she could only ask, “Sir?”

His expression was a mask of pain. “I-I wish you hadn’t done that.” After taking a few deep breaths, he seemed to recover somewhat, but he still looked haggard. “I see you found my letter,” he observed with a slightly amused smile. “I knew I had forgotten something.”

“Forgotten something?” Hilda repeated, incredulous that he could be even a little amused by this situation considering the letter’s contents. “If you’re going to tell me not to blame myself for something, I’d like to hear what exactly it is that I shouldn’t be blaming myself for!”

Klink no longer looked amused, merely tired. “It’s … complicated.”

When this appeared to be the only answer she was going to receive, Hilda decided it was time for the direct approach. “Just tell me that you’re not planning to commit suicide.”

“Suicide!” Schultz’s disturbed cry was far too loud and too close to Hilda’s ear.

The Colonel backed away from them unsteadily, fear contorting his features. “Don-don’t shout at me,” he pled tremulously, as though afraid that the request itself was dangerous to him. “I-I can’t take shouting right now.”

Schultz spoke first, sounding very apologetic. “Yes, sir.” Then: “Is that what that note says? That you plan to, to kill yourself?”

Klink looked trapped—that special combination of helpless and hopeless fear. “I … I,” he looked from Schultz to Hilda. Then he shook his head and stood up straight, wincing for a moment as he did so. “No, it doesn’t,” he said, his tone almost cold. “Fraulein Hilda is obviously hysterical. Take her home, Sergeant.”

Hysterical? She felt her mouth fall open before anger took shock’s place. She’d show _them_ hysterical! “I am _not_ being hysterical,” she said hotly, aware that staying calm would have probably helped her case more but unable restrain her temper. “I just want to know what you’re talking about in this letter!”

Schultz looked doubtful, and Hilda wondered who he doubted.

“Sergeant,” the Colonel ordered again, “take the Fraulein home.”

This was going too far! “Now, you wait a minute—I’m not going anywhere until you explain what this,” she held the letter out to Klink, “is all about!”

He ignored her and the letter. “I gave you an order, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” Schultz said, taking hold of Hilda’s arm. Then he hesitated. “The eagle is flying away soon.”

The non-sequitur shifted the Colonel’s expression from angry impatience to confused impatience. “What are you talking about?”

The guard seemed to be weighing something before he shrugged. “Colonel Hogan, he said that to me this morning. ‘I think the eagle will be flying away soon.’” He saluted. “I will take the Fraulein home,” he continued, evidently deciding not to elaborate on the circumstances of the strange comment.

Hilda frowned. She had never enjoyed being talked about like she wasn’t there, and even if that didn’t bother her, there was the fact that she’d never gotten her answer! If what the Colonel was talking about wasn’t suicide, then what was it? “But I—”

Before she could finish her objection, the door to Klink’s office opened. Colonel Hogan looked as cool and collected as he usually did, but he sounded a little winded when he spoke. “Starting the party without me, I see.” He flashed Hilda a smile before turning it on Klink. “Do you have time for a word with me, Kommandant?”

Klink went to take a seat behind his desk. He was limping, badly. “You have your orders, Sergeant.”

Schultz tugged her arm gently. “Come, Fraulein. I will take you home.” Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t fight me.”

As if she could! Hoping that she was doing the right thing, Hilda meekly allowed Schultz to lead her to the carpool. Once they were there, she wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Do you mind telling me why you didn’t stick up for me?”

“I’m sorry, Fraulein,” Schultz said with an apologetic smile, “but I don’t think that there is anything to worry about.”

“This letter disagrees,” Hilda returned tightly. Then her frown deepened as she recalled the Sergeant’s strange words earlier. “What was that about eagles?”

“You asked me what had happened this morning,” Schultz began patiently. “I spoke with Colonel Hogan. I,” his brow furrowed with sudden thought, “I wanted to know if he would help us with General Adler. He told me that he thought the eagle would fly away soon.”

It wasn’t too difficult for Hilda to sort out the meaning. “So, he said that General Adler would be leaving soon?” She shook her head. “Even if he’s right, how do you know that it’ll be soon enough?” She held the letter out for Schultz to take. “Read that and tell me I’m being hysterical.”

Schultz took it from her and gave every appearance of reading it carefully. Then he nodded. “You aren’t being hysterical,” he said quietly. “I know what this Sergeant Jackson business is about, and I know that, if the Kommandant was going to inform Hogan of it, he would want to do it personally if he was able.”

“What is _that_ about?” Hilda asked, her curiosity overtaking her satisfaction of being declared rational.

For a long moment, Schultz stared at her. Then he shook his head. “It’s not important,” he said firmly. “The sooner I take you home, the sooner I can keep an eye on the Kommandant, yes?”

Hilda could tell when she was being lied to. Unfortunately, she had no way of forcing Schultz to tell the truth. It seemed that the only thing she could do now was go home with as little fuss as possible so Schultz could return to Stalag 13 quickly. She just hoped, as she climbed into the staff car, that she wasn’t making a mistake by giving in so easily. At least with Colonel Hogan there, Klink wouldn’t be able to fulfill what was promised in his letter. She hoped.


	52. At the Crossroads

Klink waited until Schultz and Hilda had left his office, closing the door behind them, before he addressed his latest early morning visitor. It would be a lie to say that he was prepared for this confrontation, but he saw no way around it and the sooner it was over with, the better. “I’m not going to wait any longer, Hogan,” he said firmly, deciding that being direct and to the point would be best.

Hogan smiled. “You won’t have to, sir. I’ve got it all worked out.”

Despite his earlier promise to himself not to listen any excuses the American gave him, Klink had to admit that he was more than a little curious. His resolve was strong enough, he decided, that it would do no harm to find out was Hogan was on about now. Sure, the man was clever, but Klink was on guard now.

Besides it would be difficult to send Hogan on his way if he hadn’t let him have his say. He carefully ignored the fact that it would be difficult to send Hogan on his way _after_ he’d had his say as well—especially since, as he suddenly realized with a fair amount of chagrin, he had sent away all of his staff members again. He supposed he ought to feel afraid that he had no protection anymore, but he was far too busy feeling stupid. It would have been so simple: instead of just ordering Schultz to take Hilda home, he _should_ have had the Sergeant take the American back to his barracks first! 

Why hadn’t he thought of it? He could have _avoided_ all this! As it was … as it was, Hogan was staring at him now. Clearly, Klink’s considerations had taken longer than he’d thought. “Well, what is it?” he demanded brusquely, hiding his embarrassment under a thick layer of irritation. “I’m not going to wait another minute—never mind another day—unless you have something amazing to tell me.” It seemed counter-productive to tell the truth, that he had no intention of waiting no matter what Hogan said.

“Naturally, sir,” Hogan said with an easy nod, utterly unconcerned by the ultimatum. “It’s really a very simple plan, but I need you to work with me.”

Klink shuddered at the phrasing and prayed that the action would go unnoticed. “Wh-what do you need me to do?”

Judging by the concerned frown, it hadn’t. “What’s the matter?”

Damn the American and his ability to notice what happened right in front of his face! “Nothing,” Klink lied. While Hogan knew what was going on between him and Adler, he wasn’t interested in sharing specifics. “What do you need me to do?”

The emotion that appeared on Hogan’s face was so out of place and character that it took Klink a moment to realize it was guilt. “I need you to actually let General Adler take a prisoner out of camp.”

“What!” After what he’d had to go through last night, after finally—finally!—standing up to General Adler, Hogan just wanted him to give in? “Absolutely not. I’m not going to agree to hand one of you over to that, that swine.”

He was never going to give the beast the satisfaction of surrendering that.

“You mean you haven’t said you would already?” There was something faintly horrified in Hogan’s tone.

Klink didn’t know what to make of the tone, but the content of the question... He’d known that Hogan, like Adler, thought he was a disgusting coward. But, damn it, Hogan had been _there_ last night. Hogan had seen for himself what Klink had earned for his resistance. Granted, Klink hadn’t expected any praise, but some _acknowledgment_ of the effort would have been nice. 

Instead, the American was standing there, acting shocked that Klink had held out at all. Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising, and it definitely shouldn’t have hurt. But it was and it did. He glowered at the Senior POW, hurt hardening into anger. “How dare you ask me that?” he spat, trying and failing to rein in his temper. “You, of all people, should know better—you were _there_.” He sneered, offering Hogan some of the contempt he felt. “Or did you think he whipped me _because_ I gave him what he wanted?” Then he laughed with dark amusement at the thought. “Although, perhaps he would—he’s starting to think I _like_ being hit!”

The guilty expression made a return appearance. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Hogan said apologetically. “Of course I knew you held out then, and I dreaded the thought of having to tell you today that you hadn’t needed to.” The sincerity in the American’s tone was truly masterful. “But you were in rough shape when we left, and Adler looked fit to be tied.” He half shrugged. “You said that you were afraid of being murdered; if there was any time to be worried about that, it would have been then, that’s all.”

“He didn’t want to murder me when you left,” Klink said tightly, not yet able to accept the unspoken apology. “After he was done undoing Sergeant Wilson’s work, he wanted to,” even in the midst of his anger, the memory made him tremble, “to remind me of my _place_.” He saw the realization dawn on Hogan’s face and felt a measure of vindictive glee at the other man’s obvious discomfort. Good. He should feel uncomfortable—it was Hogan’s fault that last night happened in the first place. 

But then, that wasn’t completely fair, was it? Ultimately, Klink had been the one who had decided to wait. He’d had a good idea of the risks, but had been too cowardly to just accept his death. It wasn’t Hogan’s fault that Klink was willing to delude himself about what his options were.

Self loathing defused his anger towards the American, and he closed his eyes. “To answer your question,” he said with a sigh, feeling spent, “no, I did _not_ already agree to let him have one of you, and I don’t plan to.” He opened his eyes but didn’t look up. Frankly, he wasn’t looking forward to the reaction to what he had to say. “I’m not going to change my mind, Hogan—no matter what you say.” There was a part of him that wondered if his statement would be taken as a challenge rather than as a fact. There was a part of him that hoped it would be.

Klink did his best to stomp down that hope. Hope was a luxury he could no longer afford. He couldn’t afford to allow himself to be duped by Hogan once again. He couldn’t afford to let himself chase an idle fantasy when the stakes were so high now. He had to stay firm in this. He had to.

Silence greeted his words for a time before Hogan finally spoke. His tone was still apologetic but it had taken on an edge of something like desperation. “Sir, I know it’s been hard to wait for me to get my act together, but I’ve got it all together now.” He half laughed. “Hell, if there had been some way to tell you without it looking really suspicious, I could have told you _last night_ what you needed to do.” After a short pause, he spoke again, now more serious and business-like. “I can tell you now, if you’re willing to at least hear me out.”

“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” Klink demanded bitterly, but he shook his head before the other man could confirm that the answer was ‘no.’ “What is this wonderful, marvelous plan of yours?” He looked up to find Hogan’s determined eyes meeting his. Klink felt a shiver along his spine but he forced himself to hold Hogan’s gaze. He was tired of being afraid, and if he couldn’t control that (and it seemed that he couldn’t), he was at least going to stop showing his fear so plainly.

“It’s really very simple: you let Adler take a prisoner from camp and, once you get wherever it is he plans on taking him,” Hogan smiled now, as though he was enjoying the thought of what he was going to say, “you shoot him.”

“Hogan!” It was too ridiculous. It really was. Klink couldn’t control his laughter, and he wondered fleetingly whether or not he was actually so amused or if it was the choice between laughing or screaming—all of that waiting and pain and mysterious talk and _this_ was the plan? Ridiculous! There were no worries about him falling for this, at least. “Hogan,” he said once he caught his breath, “I can shoot him _here_.”

For his part, Hogan seemed unruffled by Klink’s laughing fit. “And then you’d have to die too,” he countered calmly. He flopped down into one of the chairs in front of the desk, a lazy smile on his face. “The beauty of my plan is that only General Adler will have to die.”

“And you don’t think the authorities might have something to say about that?” Klink was careful not to laugh again, certain that he’d dissolve into hysterics if he did. He would never have expected such stupidity from such a clever man! “I don’t know how they do things in America, but murder is considered a fairly serious crime here in Germany!”

“Murder is a crime in America, too,” Hogan admitted before his smile turned crafty, “but self defense isn’t.”

Klink blinked. “Self defense?” The meaning, he understood, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t see where Hogan was going with this. Forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t supposed to be interested, he gave in to his curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

Hogan’s smile didn’t dim an iota. “When you arrive wherever you’re going to, you shoot Adler. Then, when the authorities arrive, the prisoner you’ve taken along for the ride can vouch for you. He can say Adler attacked you.”

Even though he had no intention of seriously entertaining any plans Hogan offered him, Klink could feel himself warming to the idea. There were several things to like about it, after all! Getting rid of Adler _and_ being able to live afterwards? It sounded too good to be true.

As soon as he’d had this thought, Klink realized that it couldn’t work. There were two fairly large holes in Hogan’s plan and both of them were fairly obvious. There was a trick here, Klink was sure of it, because there was no way that someone as smart as Hogan hadn’t noticed these holes for himself. “No one is going to believe that Adler attacked me—why would a Gestapo general attack a Luftwaffe colonel?”

Hogan chuckled. “Sir, General Adler isn’t exactly your usual general. Remember what Burkhalter said to him? What he told you?” He shook his head, as though Klink’s objection had been childish. “If General Burkhalter knew that much _here_ , what kind of rumors do you think are flying around _Berlin_?” Something ruthless entered the American’s eyes, and Klink was suddenly glad for the scant protection that the desk afforded him. “How many people do you think will care if something should happen to him?”

It was difficult to find much to object to with his reasoning. Hogan was right: Burkhalter obviously didn’t have proof of his suspicions, but he must have heard something substantial for him to have said what he’d said to Adler’s face. He felt himself frown. What _did_ they know about Adler and his … hobby in Berlin? If anyone knew about it … if anyone knew about it, why was Adler still free? Why was Adler still in the Gestapo?

Why had Adler been given the opportunity to come here?

“Sir?”

Klink felt his breath catch in his throat as the realization washed over him. General Burkhalter was the one who approved who came to visit Stalag 13 for inspections and official visits. And General Burkhalter seemed to have a pretty clear idea of what Adler was so, so why had Burkhalter agreed to let that monster come here? Had he... Had he and his camp been set up? Had they been set up to get the evidence Burkhalter had wanted him to supply?

“Sir?”

Before the paranoia could completely take hold, Klink realized that the scenario he was currently cooking up made no sense. Burkhalter had seemed surprised to hear Adler’s name yesterday—he’d seemed shocked that Adler was here. True, Burkhalter was the one to approve camp visits, but what that mainly amounted to was signing papers. It probably hadn’t been malice on Burkhalter’s part—just not taking the time to read.

Which was a small comfort, Klink supposed. At least Burkhalter hadn’t _purposely_ sicced Adler on him and his charges. Probably.

“Klink, I know you can hear me!”

Klink started at the shout and found himself staring up into Hogan’s face as the American stood over him, on his side of the desk. His heart climbed into his throat and his mind raced to supply him with an explanation for the Senior POW’s presence in his office. His paranoia was already hard at work supply a reason for the other man’s close proximity. “H-hogan? What are you doing here?”

Hogan took a step back, his confusion palpable. “I’ve been here for the last ten minutes, Kommandant,” he said slowly, as though he couldn’t believe he actually had to say the words. “We were talking about my plan for dealing with Adler. Remember?”

Oh. Klink bowed his head, embarrassed. He’d done it again—he never used to be this scatterbrained! “I remember.” He could see that Hogan was still on his side of the desk, and he swallowed hard. “Pl-please go sit down.”

Once Hogan had reseated himself, Klink felt much better.

That was more than could be said for the American: he still seemed uncertain. “What’s the last thing we talked about?”

Klink didn’t sigh. He deserved this for letting his mind wander off. “I don’t have amnesia, Colonel, I just,” his brow furrowed as he tried to think of the right words, “I just got lost in my thoughts.” He took a deep breath to settle himself. “You asked me who would care if Adler was murdered.”

“Put-down seems more apt to me, sir,” Hogan correctly lightly.

Klink agreed with the sentiment more than Hogan could ever know. Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, it was still a fairly big risk for Klink to assume that _no one_ would care that Adler had been ‘put-down,’ or that his ‘self defense’ tale would be believed.

But it was the other risk—the one that _Hogan_ was taking with this plan—that he was finding difficult to understand. While he doubted that the Senior POW cared as much as he claimed about his warden’s safety, Klink found it very difficult to believe that the man seemed to care so little about the safety of whomever ended up taking that drive with Adler! “Are you really willing to … do you honestly want to entrust the safety of one of your men to my aim?”

“‘Want’ is a strong word,” Hogan confessed easily, “but it’s point blank range and you’ll have the element of surprise—I think it’s a risk I can take.” His expression showed no sign of deception, not a hint of doubt, not a bit of worry.

But Klink knew he was lying; he knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. “Do you think I’m stupid, Hogan?” he asked, wondering to himself why he kept asking questions he already knew the answer to. “I know you don’t think much of me,” he chuckled, his self-loathing making the short trip to the surface, “and you’re right not to.” He shook his head; he didn’t have time to indulge right now. “You’re an intelligent man, far too intelligent to put any faith in _my_ abilities.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he remembered the conclusion he’d come to the night before. “You told me to give in to Adler last night because you thought I would anyway—that’s why you were so surprised that I didn’t. I find it difficult to believe that you’re this calm relying on me _now_.”

If Klink didn’t know better, he’d think Hogan was actually a little abashed. “I’ve been batting a thousand with you, sir, haven’t I?”

“Batting a thousand?” Klink frowned, his curiosity derailing his train of thought. “A baseball metaphor?” he ventured.

Hogan nodded with a small smile. “That’s right.”

Americans and their bizarre obsession with baseball! But now wasn’t the time to delve into that topic—he was letting himself get sidetracked. “What’s your actual plan, Hogan?”

“Actual plan?” Hogan echoed, looking all the world like he had absolutely no idea what Klink was talking about.

Doubt crept into his mind but Klink brushed it aside. He was not going to let Hogan ‘pull the wool over his eyes’ anymore. If he was going to be making any deals—any agreements—with Hogan, he needed to know exactly what he’d be getting into. Not that he _actually_ planned on making any agreements, of course. Just for sake of argument. Nothing more. “Yes, your actual plan. I gave you the time you asked for, and I cannot believe that what you told me is all you could come up with.”

Hogan’s smile was strained. “Well, sir, Newkirk is a method actor—he needed some time to get ready.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m just a prisoner. There’s not a whole lot I can do from here.”

No, it was far too late for the Senior POW to be trying this tactic. Not when he’d been the one to bring up Colonel Hoople. Not with what he’d said yesterday about how important having more time was. Klink forced himself to his feet and made an effort to pull up to his full height despite the pain in his back. He felt a little lightheaded but the world wasn’t spinning, so he figured he’d be fine. “Unless you start telling me the truth, I’m finished listening to you.”

Hogan’s closed expression offered Klink no clues as to what was happening in the American’s mind. After a few seconds, he shook his head and started using his finger on his palm as though it were a pen. “But I’m telling the truth,” he insisted, looking at Klink expectantly as he repeated the motion.

Klink felt his brow furrow. If Hogan wanted paper, why wasn’t he just asking for it? Why was he pantomiming? And why didn’t his words reflect what he was doing? He almost asked before deciding that he didn’t want to waste his limited time on whatever convoluted answer Hogan would give him—assuming that the Senior POW would _speak_ the answer rather than mime it. Klink had never been particularly good at charades. Opening the front drawer of his desk, he found a pad of paper and a pen.

He was quite proud that his hand didn’t shake as he held the items across the desk for Hogan to take.

Hogan smiled in thanks as he took them. “Now, sir, don’t look at me like that.” He scribbled something on the pad as he spoke. “You know that I’m nothing if not honest.” Apparently satisfied with what he’d written, he set the pad down on the desk and held a finger to his lips, to shush him.

This was bizarre. Why was Hogan telling him to be quiet? He hadn’t even said anything yet! And ‘nothing if not honest’? Was he joking? Hoping the note Hogan had written would illuminate the mystery, Klink picked up the pad and read it to himself.

> _Say “Tell me another one” then say “If I have to listen to this foolishness, I want to be comfortable. Let’s finish this in my quarters”. We can discuss what you want to know there._

It was a very short note. And, for being such a short note, there were so many confusing things written in it! He looked at Hogan askance, and the American looked back, smiling encouragingly. It seemed that, if he wanted his answers, he would have to play along with Hogan too. Klink sighed. Why did everyone insist on playing games? “Tell me another one,” he said flatly. He had to admit that he was grudgingly impressed: at least what Hogan wanted him to say actually sounded like something he might actually say, something that didn’t make him want to vomit. A shudder went through him at the thought and he quickly finished his lines. “If I have to listen to this foolishness, I want to be comfortable. Let’s finish this in my quarters.”

Hogan flashed him a thumbs-up gesture. “Okay, Kommandant. Lead the way!”

Klink rather wished that Hogan were leading the way—that way maybe he would have been able to hide just how much pain he was in. Of course, if he was going to start wishing for things, why settle for something so trivial? Still, he was very aware that his gait was more of a stagger than a limp, and he was very aware of the other man’s scrutiny as they made the short trip into his quarters.

Once Hogan had shut the door behind him, he looked at Klink with undisguised concern. “Why don’t you take a seat, sir,” he suggested kindly.

“I’d rather stand.” Klink felt awful—tired, in pain, and the thirst he’d felt when he’d woken up this morning had returned with a vengeance—but he didn’t want to let his guard down around the American. There were answers he needed to have, and the sooner he got them, the better.

Having been ushered into his quarters with a combination of pantomime, a note, and a script, there were many questions he was well within his right to ask. However, it was getting an answer to his original question that was the most pressing. “Well, Hogan. What is your real plan?”

There was no mistaking the pained expression on Hogan’s face. “I don’t think you really want to know, sir.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Klink returned, letting his irritation show.

Hogan looked away for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. “If I tell you what you want to know, you’re going to have to decide where your loyalties lie.” He half smiled. “If you’re loyal to the Reich, you’ll have to kill me, Klink.”

“Kill you?” Klink asked, completely caught by surprise. The words were strange enough that he barely noted the fact that, once again, Hogan had omitted his rank. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember Colonel Hoople? When I was out of camp wearing a German uniform?” Hogan’s questions were asked in the slow, slightly impatient tone of a teacher speaking to a particularly dim student—a tone Klink was fairly familiar with. “What’s the penalty for that?”

“Death,” Klink answered quietly. If an enemy soldier was found out of uniform, that made him a spy. Spies were not protected under the Geneva Convention. Spies could be shot on sight, although they usually weren’t so lucky as that. But, if _that_ was what Hogan was worried about, it didn’t make much sense considering the fact that they were standing here having this conversation right now! “But that didn’t stop you from pulling that stunt in the first place!”

Hogan nodded. “It was quite a big risk, but it seemed like the only way to pay off that commander.” He smiled. “I figured you’d be too surprised and too relieved to call me out until later—when there was no evidence—no proof—beyond your say so.” Then he frowned slightly, as though only now realizing something. “You never investigated how I did it.”

“No,” Klink agreed, a bit surprised that Hogan had expected him to do so. After all, the man had done him a great favor. He’d been curious—of course he’d been!—but he hadn’t wanted to consign Hogan to a firing squad to satiate that curiosity. Especially not when what Hogan had done had directly benefited him. “It would have been poor repayment for your help.”

When Hogan didn’t give a quick response to the statement, Klink frowned. “Hogan, I’m willing to die over this. Do you honestly think I’m going to have you shot for trying to save my life?”

For a long moment, Hogan only stared back, his gaze piercing in a way that made Klink want to back away.“You’re not making this easy, sir,” he said finally, his smile softening the words enough that they didn’t immediately raise Klink’s hackles. “You’re asking me to take a very big risk.”

“And you’re not asking _me_ to risk anything?” Klink asked, feeling fairly outraged by the suggestion.

Hogan took off his hat with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “No, you’re right. I am asking you to risk quite a bit, too. I just wish I knew how you’d react to what I have to say.” He stared at Klink, a troubled look on his face. “If you’re sure you want to know, I’ll tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’d never dream of it.” It was tempting to say that he didn’t want to know. An unknown fear gripped his heart, and he wasn’t looking forward to having that fear realized. But there was an excitement as well. Maybe … maybe he _wouldn’t_ have to die. He’d thought the last of his hope had died last night, but it seemed that he’d been mistaken. Whether or not this was a good thing was yet to be seen.

Either way, good thing or not, Klink had to know what Hogan really planned to do before he made any decisions. He’d gone into this thing with Adler without really knowing what he’d been getting into—he wasn’t going to make that mistake twice. He needed to know what the American was going to do … and what he wanted for doing it.

Klink took a deep breath to settle himself. Whatever Hogan would want from him, he was certain it wouldn’t be anything like what his paranoia was suggesting. “Tell me what your plan is.”

“All right,” Hogan nodded, returning the cap to his head. “It’s rather simple,” he began, leaning forward, as though telling a joke. “You and General Adler will be taking a prisoner from camp, like I said. Somewhere along the way, though, you’ll be forced to stop the car and Adler will be kidnapped. Then you’ll go to the authorities to report his kidnapping—they’ll believe you because you’ll have corroboration from the prisoner and,” he smiled somewhat apologetically, “no one would think you’re capable of getting rid of a Gestapo General.” He splayed his hands like a magician at the end of the trick. “But when they go to look for him, they won’t find anything. He’ll be gone—miles away by then.”

The sudden dryness in Klink’s mouth wasn’t completely due to his thirst. It was utterly impossible, what Hogan was saying, and yet … yet how could he say that with all the strange things that happened here? Even if he felt inclined to ignore most of the strange things, even with only the weight of Colonel Hoople, it seemed foolhardy to dismiss this explanation out of hand. Then again, this was an awful lot to swallow without something to help it go down. “Hogan, I’m going to need some proof you can do that.”

The American seemed to consider this before nodding agreeably. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.” He walked passed Klink to stand next to the cast iron stove near the couch. “I need to tell you something before we go any further,” he said suddenly, his voice as hard as his gaze.

Klink took a step back before he could stop himself. “Wh-what is it?”

For a split second, Hogan seemed taken aback. Then the hard look returned. “I’m not only putting my neck out, but the necks of my men. If you make me regret it, I’ll make _you_ regret it. Understood?”

Staring at this harsh, threatening figure, Klink felt like he was looking at someone he’d never met before. This wasn’t the same Hogan who lost at chess but won at cards. This wasn’t the same man he’d bantered with. This was a stranger who could do him quite a lot of harm—easily. Perhaps with enjoyment. His rational mind could not dredge up anything to assuage his panic, and he took another step back. He opened his mouth but could not speak.

“Sir?” the figure demanded, coming towards Klink with violence in his dark gaze.

Klink held his hands up in a wholly inadequate defense for what was to come. “I’m sorry!” he finally forced out of his dry throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—!”

Strong hands took hold of his shoulders and forced him to walk backwards before pushing him down to sit on something soft. As soon as the hands left him, Klink curled in on himself and waited for the hands to return, trembling. Moments stretched into seconds and then into minutes before Klink opened his eyes.

Hogan was staring down at him, his expression no longer hard and harsh but ashamed. “Are you all right now, Klink?”

Feeling his face grow hot, Klink uncurled himself, wincing in pain as he straightened up to sit correctly. Not trusting his voice and uncertain what he’d said if he did, he nodded.

“I wanted to scare you,” Hogan said quietly, “but I didn’t want to scare you _that_ much.”

Part of Klink wanted to deny he’d been scared, but even in his current state, he understood how foolish that would sound. However, now that the danger had passed for the moment, most of Klink had a more pressing concern. “Water,” he whispered. “I need water.”

Within moments, a glass of water was pressed into his hands. Klink drunk it down, feeling like a fish left to gasp on the beach. He still felt thirsty once it was gone but decided against asking for any more. Now that his rational mind was working again, he still needed to get the proof Hogan could do as he said. He set the glass down on the coffee table and looked up at the still contrite American. “I-I won’t make you regret showing me whatever you’re going to show me.” He tried to smile. “I told you: I’m not going to have you shot for trying to save my life.”

Hogan gave him a shamefaced smile in return. “All right, Klink. I trust you.” He held his hand out. “Do you need a hand up?”

Klink looked at the hand warily. Hogan trusted him, he’d said. Klink didn’t think he trusted the Senior POW very much right now, but it seemed that he had little choice but to try. Tentatively, Klink took hold and let Hogan pull him up. He took his hand back the instant he was back on his feet. “What are you going to show me?”

“A tunnel,” Hogan said lightly, as though it were the most common place thing in the world. “We don’t use this one too much—not much call for it,” he said as he came to stand next to the stove once more, “but this one is still connected to the rest of them.” He hesitated. “Have you made a fire yet?”

There was a lot to take in with Hogan’s statements. So much so that it took Klink several moments to realize he’d been asked a question. “What? No,” he answered, bewildered. What on earth did his _stove_ have to do with these tunnels that Hogan was talking so blithely about! “What difference does that make?”

“Well, sir,” Hogan said with a nonchalant shrug, “I’d rather not burn myself, if it’s all the same to you.” He took hold of the sides of the stove and pulled.

The stove swung out, it’s back coming to face Klink, but the back of the stove wasn’t what had Klink’s attention. It was the hole that the base of the stove had hidden from view. A well-made hole, from his layman’s perspective, with a ladder set into the wall. He hadn’t realized he’d been walking forward until he found himself staring down into the tunnel, the light from the livingroom unable to reach to the bottom.

“Careful, sir,” Hogan’s voice cautioned with more than a little amusement, “I wouldn’t want you to fall in.”

Klink wondered if he felt dizzy because of his physical condition or if it was from the shock of what he was seeing. True, one tunnel didn’t prove very much, but this tunnel had obviously been dug with care. Combining this with that Hogan had said before, he didn’t know whether he wanted to vomit or laugh hysterically. “There are … there are more of these?”

“Yes,” Hogan answered, his tone now more serious. “And they’re all connected—so, from here, I can get just about anywhere in camp.” A pause. “I can get outside of camp as well—which I’ve had to do occasion.”

Tearing his eyes away from the tunnel mouth, Klink turned his gaze to Hogan. There were many questions swirling around in his mind mixed with self recriminations and self-loathing, but the overarching theme of all of it was ‘my failure is complete.’ Nothing he’d thought that had been true was. He’d thought that he’d been normal; he wasn’t. He’d thought his life here had been good; it hadn’t been. He’d thought that he’d done a good job as camp Kommandant; he hadn’t. He’d thought that he’d been in charge; he hadn’t been.

No wonder Adler had been able to play him so well—it seemed that Klink’s strings were on view for anyone to pull.

“Klink? Are you all right?” Hogan’s concern combined with the omission of his rank felt like another slap in the face.

Klink only shook his head. Before he realized it was going to happen, he fell to his knees and only swift hands taking hold of his shoulders kept him from tipping down face-first into the darkness. His stomach roiled and bile filled his mouth and he couldn’t keep it in. Water and bile found a new home in the dirt.

The hands on his shoulders tightened. “Take it easy.”

Gasping, Klink closed his eyes. “I-I didn’t know anything.” He was aware that he sounded like a whimpering idiot, but that was what he was—why shouldn’t he sound that way? “How? How could I have been so wrong about _everything_?”

“I think you’re being a little melodramatic,” Hogan said, his voice coming from somewhere behind his head. “It wasn’t like it was _easy_ digging these tunnels, you know.”

If only that was the only thing he’d been wrong about! “You don’t understand.”

“Probably not,” Hogan agreed. “What do you say about moving this conversation to the couch? I’d rather not leave the entrance open for too long, and you don’t look like you’re in any condition to take a field trip.”

Klink didn’t remember responding to the suggestion, and perhaps he hadn’t. He was vaguely aware of being pulled up and being led to the couch. Hogan urged him to sit, and he did so. When Hogan offered to get him some more water, he nodded, too drained now to actually speak.

The American held the glass out to him. “Here, sir. Try not to drink it so fast this time.”

Klink took it and did as he was told.

“I knew you wouldn’t take it well,” Hogan said at last, pensively, “but I wasn’t prepared for that kind of reaction.”

“It’s not just the tunnels,” Klink admitted, uncertain how much he wanted to share in light of the kind of confusion the man was responsible for. “I’m … I’m a complete failure.” He looked down at the half full glass in his hands. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be a professional failure if I could be a good man too, but,” he felt his lips curl into a bitter smile, “I’m not a good man either.”

The cushion next to him shifted and Klink became aware of the other man’s presence beside him. Not touching, thank goodness, but undeniably there. Even though he wasn’t looking at Hogan’s face, he could hear the frown in his voice. “Adler didn’t leave you a lot of choices.”

“It’s not because of what I,” Klink couldn’t stop himself from shuddering, “let him do to me.” He took a sip of the water as he considered what he wanted to say. “I … I’m not the man I thought I was. I don’t like the man I am now.”

“What’s he done that’s so bad?” Hogan asked, merely curious. “I’m not sure the old Klink would have let himself get whipped for our sake.”

A flash of pride went through Klink before fading away. “One bright spot,” he said. “If you knew … if you knew what I’ve done, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to save me.”

Silence. “What did you do?”

That had been expected. Hogan had a right to know how he’d been used, had a right to know exactly what kind of pervert he was sitting next to, but Klink couldn’t tell him. Not now. Still, he had to give the American something or else the subject wouldn’t be dropped. “If I make it through tonight, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He turned to look at Hogan and saw surprise on his face. “I told you, Hogan, I want to live.”

Hogan considered this before nodding. “Fair enough, Klink.” Then he tilted his head. “So, you’ll help me with my plan?”

Klink bowed his head. There was one important thing that he needed to know that Hogan had not already mentioned. “What will happen to Adler?”

“He’ll be taking a flight to London,” Hogan replied after a moment. “London thinks he might have some useful information. They’ve promised me they’ll keep him until the end of the war.”

His Senior POW could contact and speak with people in London? And here Klink had thought that he could no longer be surprised by the depth of his failures. He must be the single most inept Kommandant in history! But then, if he hadn’t been so incompetent, this opportunity to continue his miserable life wouldn’t have materialized. He wondered if he were incredibly stupid or just cowardly to consider that a good thing. “And then what happens?”

“Well, after we win the war,” Hogan’s tone was matter of fact, as though this outcome were given, “he’ll be shipped back to Germany, of course.” He continued on before Klink could comment. “But the Gestapo won’t have any power—he’ll have nothing to hold over you.”

The water in the glass rippled as Klink’s hand shook. “He’s stronger than I am, Hogan,” he said quietly. “If he wants to, to do what he’s been doing or, or if he wants to kill me, he’ll still be able to do _that_.”

“You think he’d still be after you?” The disbelief in Hogan’s voice was plain.

“I don’t know,” Klink said softly. “He … he’s been treating me like a, a project. I don’t know what he wants from me.” He brought his head up so he could see Hogan’s face. “I find it difficult to believe that he would leave me alone until he’s gotten whatever it is he’s looking for.”

Hogan seemed skeptical but he nodded. “All right. I’ll work out something with London about keeping him a little longer.” Then he tilted his head. “Or maybe I can get you some position stateside.” He lifted his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “America is a pretty big space—he’d have a hard time finding you there.”

He stood up. “But we can discuss that later. The important thing is getting the General out of the picture.” He held out his hand. “Will you help me?”

Klink was a coward and a fool and half a dozen other uncomplimentary titles—all of which were richly deserved for what he’d done and what he was about to do. He was about to agree, once again, to put his fate in another’s hands. Clearly, _he_ was far too incompetent to be trusted with control of his own destiny.

Since Hogan was doing such a wonderful job of running his camp, he might as well let the man run his life as well! It certainly seemed as though Hogan planned to with the way he’d been talking. At least, once he’d told Hogan how he’d been used, he wouldn’t have to worry about the American’s continued interest in his welfare.

He marveled at how strange his mind had become that this last constituted a comforting thought. A less comforting thought came on its heels. “What … what will you want for, for helping me?”

Hogan seemed surprised by the question. Then he chuckled, bringing the outstretched hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Well, sir, I _still_ haven’t gotten that wallpaper for helping you _last_ time—you’re going to run up a high tab with me if you’re not careful.” It was clear from the way he said this that he was making a joke.

It wasn’t one that Klink found the least bit funny. He didn’t know what being indebted to Hogan would entail, but Klink knew that he didn’t want it—to go from being Adler’s plaything to Hogan’s puppet would not be an improvement! And, of course, his depraved brain insisted that the American would want more than his obedience. “I don’t want to be in your debt, Hogan,” he bit out, terror making his words clipped. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

The smile left the prisoner’s face, making the younger man look almost sad. “I just want you to be yourself again. That would be enough for me.”

Klink wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Why didn’t Hogan just ask him for the moon if he was going to be asking for impossible things! As if he _could_ go back to being that. As if he _wanted_ to. “I-I don’t know if that’s possible,” he said, doing his best to resist both impulses. “I … I don’t think I can be that man anymore.” He took a deep breath to regain his composure. “Is there something else you want?”

“I’d be willing to settle for you just talking to me,” Hogan’s smile was gentle. “I still want to help you, if I can.”

Klink knew that that much would not be true after he told the American the truth, but he saw no point in saying so. As far as talking to the Senior POW, well, he’d already promised that, hadn’t he? He wasn’t being asked for anything that he wasn’t already offering to give, and there was no reason not to offer it again. “All right—after tonight, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hogan stood up straighter and held his hand out again. “So, will you help me with my plan?”

“Are you certain, I mean, absolutely certain, that this will work?” Klink asked, more to feel like he wasn’t giving in too easily than because he really expected the American to start sharing whatever doubts _he_ had about all this.

Hogan’s nod was curt and his expression was earnest. “It will, Kommandant.”

And that was it. Klink took Hogan’s hand and shook it. “What do you want me to do?” He let go of the hand and sagged back against the cushions, wincing.

The Senior POW made no attempt to hide his relief. “Pick Corporal Newkirk for General Adler to take with you,” he said, his tone disconcertingly jovial considering the topic. “He’s been practicing his story for the authorities since last night—he’s gotten quite convincing!”

“You didn’t, you didn’t order him to do this, did you?” Klink did not like the thought that Hogan had forced one of his men to get involved. He felt low enough for accepting Hogan’s offer without being responsible for dragging someone else into this mess.

Hogan shook his head. “He volunteered.” His nonchalant shrug was convincing but Klink couldn’t bring himself to believe that the American was truly so nonchalant about this. “A good thing too—he’s a much better actor than I am.” A troubled look crossed Hogan’s face so quickly Klink wasn’t certain he’d actually seen it. His smile was confident. “All you’ll need to do is tell the truth when the authorities get involved: Adler was kidnapped. Newkirk can do the creative story telling.”

Klink found hard to believe that anyone could be a better actor than the man standing right in front of him. But that wasn’t the only thing he found hard to believe. Was Hogan truly so confident in his plan? Klink certainly wished _he_ was as confident in it as Hogan was acting! “What happens if what you’re planning _doesn’t_ work?”

Hogan’s smile softened. “Then I’ve got my back-up plan in place.”

“Back-up plan?” Just how many plans could the American cram up his sleeves!

There was appraisal in Hogan’s gaze as he looked Klink over, and Klink struggled to convince himself that the prisoner was not leering at him. “You’re my back up. If what I have planned doesn’t work, you’ll be able to get the job done as we’ve discussed.” He reached out his hand but pulled it back. The action almost looked natural. “I’m not worried.” His sudden worried expression belied his words. “Could you try not to let on that you know what’s really going on to Newkirk?” At Klink’s look of surprise, he rubbed the back of his neck again, almost sheepishly. “I don’t think my men would appreciate my being so honest with you, so, if you could just pretend that all you know is what I originally told you, it would make things a lot easier for me.”

The strange request distracted Klink from his own worries about Hogan’s plan. “You want me to keep a secret from your men?”

Hogan nodded. “For now.” His smile was somewhat sad. “It won’t be easy to tell them that I broke their trust, but I’ll have to tell them that I told you sooner or later.” He looked down for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. “I need to be able to do it on my terms and to do it my way, so will you stay quiet about what you know for now?”

It was certainly a surreal feeling to be entrusted with keeping a secret from the prisoners at the request of the Senior POW. It was even stranger when he considered the fact that, with what Hogan’s plan and what Hogan could do, the stakes were so high for Hogan and his men. But what was the most strange was that Hogan had, in his own words, broken his trust with his men … to save Klink’s life.

Klink felt humbled. Not in the way that Adler had humbled him—by making him feel filthy and worthless, but in a way that made him feel he was being given a gift that he in no way deserved. Hogan hadn’t been lying before: the American had taken a big risk to tell Klink the things he’d told him—and the risk hadn’t been only his life and the lives of his men; it had been their trust as well. It was only now, when he realized what exactly Hogan had given up to save him, that he truly appreciated how important his life was to the man.

He felt ashamed that he wasn’t brave enough to tell Hogan how he’d used him—to give Hogan a chance to change his mind before what was done was done, a chance to understand just how worthless his miserable life was.

His stomach twisting with self-recriminations, he nodded. “I-I can do that.” His conscience forced him to ask the question he dreaded to. “Will they … will they forgive you for, for telling me?”

A slow nod. “Eventually, once I explain how low on options I was.” He flashed Klink a bright smile. “Don’t you worry about it—I’ve got a very loyal group.”

Somehow, this reassurance only made Klink feel guiltier. “I see.”

Hogan opened his mouth, his expression hinting some kind of quip, but was interrupted when the office door opened.

General Adler strode into his quarters, trailed by a nervous looking Corporal Langenscheidt. As soon as Langenscheidt met Klink’s eyes, he stopped and saluted. “Colonel Klink, General Adler wishes to see you.”

As though he couldn’t see that for himself! Klink didn’t feel the least bit prepared for another visit with the man who had, single-handedly, made his life practically unlivable. His only comfort was that, thanks to the deal—the agreement he’d made with Hogan, he would at least be coming out of this conversation without further injury. All he had to do was pretend that his resistance had been spent the night before, and Adler would be appeased.

Honestly, though, he wasn’t certain how much of a pretense it would actually be. Klink didn’t feel capable of enduring the sort of violence Adler would no doubt inflict on him for holding out—not with everything he’d already been put through. It was a blow to the pride he’d scrapped together the night before to admit it to himself, but he was glad that he didn’t need to resist this particular demand any longer.

“Sir?”

Klink shook his head, returning himself to the here and now. “Take Colonel Hogan back to his barracks,” he ordered as he pushed himself to his feet, knowing that his tone was sterner than he’d intended but unable to help it between his nerves and the pain, “and then station yourself in the front office. We’re not to be disturbed. Understood?”

Langenscheidt saluted. “Yes, sir!”

Once the Corporal and the Senior POW were safely away, Adler said nothing. He only stared at Klink, waiting.

It wasn’t until the annoyance started to take hold in Adler’s eyes that Klink realized what the man was waiting for. Doing his best to hide how ridiculous he found this farce, he raised his hand to salute. “General.”

Adler’s smile was small but pleased. “Colonel,” he acknowledged without returning the salute. “Have you called General Burkhalter yet?”

“General Burkhalter?” Klink was completely mystified. Why would he have called his superior? He let his hand fall back to his side. “What for?”

“To get that meddlesome Sergeant of yours transferred,” Adler answered as though Klink should have immediately understood that that was what he’d meant. “Sergeant Schultz, isn’t it?”

Ah. The transfer. “Yes, it is.”

“Since you clearly haven’t done it yet,” Adler said, draping his arm around Klink’s shoulder and pushing him towards his office, “I think you should take care of that before we discuss our … other business.”

Klink considered protesting, claiming that he’d already done so, before deciding that wasn’t a good idea. He knew that he wasn’t a very convincing liar. “O-of course, General,” he stuttered as he let Adler guide him to his office and then to the front of his desk. Klink picked up the receiver under the watchful eye of Adler and wondered how he was going to get out of talking to Burkhalter.

Suddenly wanting to transfer Sergeant Schultz would be strange, and the last thing he wanted was Burkhalter to get suspicious enough to make a return visit to Stalag 13. While Burkhalter hadn’t called him on his lie last time, Klink knew that the man suspected something. _What_ he suspected, Klink had no idea. It was bad enough that he suspected _something_ in the first place!

As Klink told the operator to connect him to Burkhalter’s office, he tried to come up with a plan. Unfortunately, plans were not something that came quickly to him, and he’d still been thinking about what he’d do when the receiver on the other end picked up.

“The office of General Burkhalter,” a male voice intoned.

Klink felt himself frown. “Who is this?”

“I’m the General’s secretary,” the man said, sounding as though the question was surprising.

Cognizant of Adler staring at him, Klink decided that he didn’t want to argue that he knew what Burkhalter’s secretary sounded like and this man was clearly _not_ her. Maybe she had taken ill and this man was a replacement? Still, something about this seemed wrong. And there was something wrong with the man’s accent... “I need to speak with General Burkhalter.”

“I’m sorry, but the General isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

Klink had been about to tell the man to tell Burkhalter that he’d called when inspiration struck. He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Ignoring the question, Klink waited a moment before continuing on. “Ah, General Burkhalter!” He waited again. “Don’t you recognize my voice, sir?” he asked, trying to sound wounded. If he could avoid using his name, when Burkhalter’s secretary reported this call to the General, Burkhalter would have nothing to go on when trying to figure out who had called him. “That’s right, General.”

“Sir?” the secretary asked, sounding bewildered. “I’m not General Burkhalter.”

“Why I called? I’d like to transfer,” Klink broke off suddenly, seeing the snag in his plan. While ‘Schultz’ was not an uncommon name, it wouldn’t be too difficult for Burkhalter to determine that the Schultz in question was Klink’s. He nodded his head, pretending that Burkhalter had cut him off while he tried to think of how to salvage this. It was far too late to abandon the pretense now! “Of course, General.”

“What are you talking about? Sir? Sir!”

It was difficult to ignore the voice on the other end. It was also difficult to ignore Adler standing so close to his shoulder. Klink prayed that Adler was not close enough to hear that the conversation he was pretending to have on his end was not being shared on the other end. Ah! That would work. “I’d like to transfer my Sergeant of the guards.”

The secretary fell silent.

Klink nodded again. “Yes, General. He’s … well, I’ve caught him asleep at his post one too many times.” He glanced at Adler, praying that the Gestapo General was accepting this.

Adler’s expression hadn’t changed. It was the same expectant smile that he’d been wearing since Klink had picked up the receiver. Whether or not this was an encouraging sign was yet to be seen.

“Oh, as soon as possible,” Klink continued. “Thank you, General. Heil Hitler!” He hung up the receiver with a trembling hand. Had he been able to act better than he’d been able to lie?

Hands on his shoulders startled him, and Klink jerked his head up in time to be kissed. Resignation and relief flooded through Klink as Adler’s tongue forced its way into his mouth. It seemed reasonable to believe that Adler believed him since he was being kissed rather than hit. Of course, as glad as he was about that, he was less than pleased to endure another one of the beast’s kisses.

Adler broke the kiss and smiled pleasantly. “I really do prefer it when you cooperate with me.” His hands slid down Klink’s arms, coming to rest on his elbows. “If you’d cooperated with me last night, I wouldn’t have had to make you bleed,” he complained, as though what had happened last night had been merely an annoying inconvenience. “I hadn’t expected you to be so stubborn!” His hands slid further down, and Adler took hold of one of Klink’s hands between his own. “I do hope, for your sake, that you won’t be so stubborn today.” His mouth curved into an evil smile. “After all, Colonel, you don’t need your _fingers_ to be useful to _me_.”

Klink swallowed hard, his throat dry, as Adler idly toyed with his hand, bending back his fingers almost to the point of pain before bending them down the other way. Terror had stolen his ability to move, to do more than breathe heavily, and he worried that he wouldn’t be able to start speaking before Adler started to do as he hadn’t quite threatened. The fate of his fingers wasn’t so important, in the grand scheme of things, but, if he didn’t have to have his fingers broken, he didn’t want to have them broken.

It was difficult to work a pistol with broken fingers, for one thing! “W-wait,” he forced out at last, high-pitched and panicked.

Adler looked up from his play. “Yes, Colonel? Is there something you’d like to say?”

Humiliating. Klink stared into that expectant face and felt the same humiliation he’d felt when Adler had first turned his body against him. That same, smug self-satisfaction in the swine’s voice. That same tone of victory. He felt that same greasy coat of shame.

But this wasn’t Adler’s triumph. This was a trick. This was a trap. Adler would not be the winner, not in the end. Wasn’t it worth giving the beast the temporary satisfaction, knowing that he would be taken far, far away? Granted, time in a British prisoner of war camp was hardly what the swine deserved, but it was better than having to die with him, wasn’t it?

This would end and he, Klink, would be able to come out alive. This was the only way to ensure that Adler would be the only one to lose. With everything he’d paid already, this humiliation was only one small payment more. Avoiding it, like all the other times he’d been faced with this choice, was not worth his life. “I-I, I’ll do it.”

Adler tilted his head. “Do what? Be precise.”

Klink looked away. “I’ll give you a prisoner to interrogate.”

One of Adler’s hands released Klink’s to come up to Klink’s cheek. Gently but inexorably, Adler forced Klink to look back at him. Adler was grinning, showing too many teeth. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to be reasonable, Colonel.” The kiss was light. “Do you have a specific one in mind?”

“Corporal Newkirk,” Klink whispered, unable to make himself speak any louder.

“Not Colonel Hogan?” Adler asked, his expression almost a pout.

Klink shook his head. “No, General.” He closed his eyes. The question he was going to get next was obvious, and he had no answer for it.

“Why not?”

Why was he only ever right about _bad_ things? “Ah,” Klink stalled as he tried to think. Why? Why not Hogan if he was willing to hand over Newkirk? It had to be something that Adler would believe. Just as impatience entered Adler’s expression, Klink found his answer. “Hochstetter!”

Adler frowned. “Major Hochstetter?” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What does he have to do with it?”

“Ah, well,” Klink attempted a smile, “Major Hochstetter, he, he has an interest in Colonel Hogan—it would be better, I think, if-if nothing happened to him to make Hochstetter curious.”

Rubbing his chin, Adler seemed to consider it. Then he shook his head. “Colonel, I have said this before, but you are a _terrible_ liar.” He tilted his head, as though a thought had suddenly struck him. “My God,” he chuckled, his smile wide and wickedly amused. “I understand now.”

It took a fair amount of willpower not to ask what he was talking about. Klink stared back at Adler, trying hard not to let his confusion and fear show.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I mean?” Adler asked, appearing just a little put out that he’d had to.

“What do you mean,” Klink stated flatly. Always with these damn games!

A low chuckle. “I understand why you’re so determined not to let me have Colonel Hogan.” He waited a moment before he continued speaking, his tone grand and dramatic. “ _He_ is the man you’re thinking of when you kiss me!”

Klink’s mouth hung open uselessly; the denials he knew he should be giving unable to overcome his shock. When exactly had he become surrounded by master detectives! First Hogan and now Adler—was he just _incapable_ of hiding _anything_ he wanted to keep secret? Who next? _Schultz_?

“I can’t say you have bad taste,” Adler continued with approval. “He’s a very fine specimen.”

“You’re wrong,” Klink denied, finally regaining control of his mouth. He knew, even as he said his denial that it was foolhardy and pointless, but he had to try. While Adler seemed amused about this at the moment, who knew when that might change? Besides, it seemed unwise, with the swine’s interest in the American, to let Adler’s supposition stand unchallenged. “I-I don’t think of him.”

He didn’t realize the magnitude of his mistake until the corners of Adler’s mouth quirked up into a sadistic smirk. “Is that right?” When Klink replied that it was, the smirk stretched into a grin. “Then I _insist_ that you give me Colonel Hogan instead.” His grin became feral. “Unless, of course, you admit that you want him for yourself.”

And now what was he supposed to say? Klink didn’t know how important it was to have the Corporal go rather than anyone else, so he didn’t know how much of a problem it would cause to take Hogan along with them instead. His heart sank with the realization of what he’d have to do. And there was no choice. With so much riding on this plan and with so much he didn’t know about the specifics of it … he couldn’t afford to deviate from what he’d been told to do. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words he needed difficult to bring up.

He marveled a bit at that. Surely, he didn’t care what _Adler_ thought of him! But, no, that wasn’t his fear. His fear was that he wouldn’t be lying. Some part of him must be attracted to the American. Some part of him must want the other man in the way Adler was suggesting. Otherwise … otherwise, why would Klink be able to bring him to mind so easily when he kissed the swine?

“Well, Colonel?”

Now wasn’t the time to puzzle it out. Later, he could think about it, if he felt the need to. Right now … right now, he would have to say aloud what he feared was true and hope that that was actually the answer Adler wanted him to give. “I, I don’t want you to take him.” Seeing the warning look from Adler, he bowed his head. “I want Colonel Hogan for myself.”

“Look at me.” Once Klink had brought his head back up, Adler smiled at him. The General still seemed more amused than anything, but something devious and calculating lurked around his eyes. “Very well, Colonel,” he granted magnanimously, “I won’t take him from you.” He considered Klink a moment longer before nodding. “You can _interrogate_ him next time, if you’re good. Would you like that?”

Klink felt the blood drain from his face, and he was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t made himself eat breakfast. As though he’d _ever_ be interested in forcing himself on Hogan! There might be some part of him that wanted to kiss the man—there might even be some part of him that wanted to do more than that—but he was very certain that there was no part of him that wanted Hogan to endure what he had at his own hands. Even with every horrid thing Klink had learned about himself in the past few days, he could at least content himself with the fact that he wasn’t Adler.

At least what he was about to say now he was certain was a lie. It was still difficult to bring up the words without bringing up bile at the thought of them. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Adler smirked. “I thought you would.” He put a hand on Klink’s shoulder. “I think you and I are going to have some fun tonight.” Then, without warning, he threw his arms around Klink, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Klink gasped in agony and received Adler’s tongue in his mouth for his trouble. He felt his knees go weak, and he thought he was going to faint. He might have fainted because, one moment, Adler had been kissing him and, the next, Adler was holding him up at arm’s length, making a good show of looking concerned.

“Are you all right, Colonel? What’s the matter?”

What incredibly stupid questions. As though Adler had no idea what the problem was! “It-it’s my back.”

Something Klink refused to believe was real regret passed across Adler’s face. “Go to your bedroom and get undressed,” Adler ordered in his ‘gentle’ tone. “I will be back soon.”

Klink watched Adler leave and gave serious consideration to the idea of going back to his plan. He could get his pistol and wait for Adler to return from wherever he’d gone off to. With Fraulein Hilda gone, he wouldn’t even have to worry about traumatizing the girl! But then...

But then he would die. With what Hogan had revealed to him, the American had no reason to lie about what his plan was. If he waited, there was a good chance he would be able to get out of all of this alive. It was really as simple as that. It had always been that simple, hadn’t it? The only reason he’d gone along with Adler in the first place was that he’d wanted to live.

He brought a hand up to cover his face. Why did he only want to end his life when he didn’t have access to his means of doing so? It hardly seemed fair that he only wanted to live when it would be easy to die. If he’d had his pistol on him last night, he would have found it difficult to stay his hand. But now—

Now, he wanted to cling to life like the pathetic coward he was. Feeling like an abject failure—and knowing he deserved to feel that way for being one—, Klink staggered towards his bedroom. Once he’d shut the door behind him, he stared down at his uniform and allowed himself a wry smile. After spending so much time and energy and pain getting these clothes on, it seemed like a shame that he’d only worn them for less than an hour before having to take them off again.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been much easier to take off than they’d been to put on. He glared at the discarded clothes on his bed through watery eyes and found himself wishing that Adler hadn’t taken the Eukadol. As much as he hated depending on the painkillers, it was fairly obvious that this task would have gone more smoothly if he’d had them. Perhaps Adler had gone to bring him some more?

But then why would he have to be naked for that?

After a moment of indecision, Klink carefully put on his bathrobe. It was a little chilly in his room, and he didn’t particularly enjoy looking at his own body these days. If Adler was upset that he hadn’t followed the directions to the letter, well, it wasn’t as though the robe would be very difficult to take off.

He positioned himself on the bed and wondered how long the swine would keep him waiting. He hoped not long; there were several things he needed to take care of before tonight.

It had been all well and good for Hogan to say ‘pick Corporal Newkirk for Adler to interrogate!’ but he hadn’t told Klink what he was supposed to say that they’d been out there to _do_ once Adler had been kidnapped and the inquiries came. They’d want to know why Klink had taken a prisoner outside of camp. What the prisoner had done which _required_ a special interrogation by a Gestapo general.

Even if no one would care about Adler, Klink knew that General Burkhalter would care about _that_. The General didn’t particularly care for the Allied soldiers Klink was in charge of, but he _did_ care about Luftwaffe control over Luftwaffe affairs. He would want to know _why_ Klink had found it necessary to turn over Corporal Newkirk, even temporarily, into Gestapo hands.

Klink thought he had a reasonable answer. It would require fudging the camp records a bit, and he would have to order Schultz to lie, but it wouldn’t be beyond his ability. At least his preoccupation with his own troubles had kept him from filing the report—what he was planning would have been a lot more difficult had the paperwork already been looked at.

Maybe he should have Schultz bring Hilda back so that the paperwork could be filed properly. Besides that … he owed her an apology. She hadn’t been hysterical. Even if she had been, she hadn’t deserved to be summarily dismissed for trying to help him, for being concerned.

The sound of the door opening drew his thoughts and gaze back to the present. As he took in the figures in the doorway, he wondered if he hadn’t been better off with his thoughts.


	53. Unfinished Business

Kinch rubbed his gloved hands together, urging warmth to return to his fingers. He’d been standing outside the back of Barracks 8 for the last 20 minutes, and he was starting to think that no one would show up after all. Considering his purpose for being there, he was hoping no one _would_ appear. After speaking privately with Sergeant Jackson and finding the Sergeant apparently no worse for wear after his experience with Adler, he had gone to each of the barracks in turn to inform the men there that Colonel Hogan wanted to know if any of them had had a run in with the visiting Gestapo General. He’d told them that the Colonel was entrusting these debriefings to him so, if any of them _did_ have something to report, he would be behind Barracks 8 after roll call to discuss it. And that whatever he was told would go no further than he and Colonel Hogan.

So, here he was, hoping that no one would be coming to take him up on his offer. He’d give it another ten minutes, just to be sure. Although, listening to the shouts coming from the Volleyball Tournament, Kinch wondered if he shouldn’t have picked a later time for this: while there were plenty of men uninterested in this diversion, it was fair to say that quite a few were. If he didn’t have a job to do, _he’d_ be interested! Perhaps he could take a quick glance on his way back to Barracks 2.

“Sergeant Kinchole?”

Having not expected the hail, Kinch started. He looked up to see a very tense, very young, American corporal. His heart sank. Kinch couldn’t recall the young man’s name, but he recognized him as one of the newest prisoners. “Yes?”

The Corporal took a couple of tentative steps forward. “I am here for debriefing,” he stated, standing at attention. Although he hadn’t said much, his Slavic accent combined with the American uniform marked him as naturalized rather than natural born citizen of the country.

Which wasn’t a problem, but it was always a little surprising to hear a foreign accent coming out of an American uniform. Taking in the tense posture and serious expression on the man’s face, Kinch suddenly wished that he’d picked a meeting place with chairs. “At ease, Corporal...?”

“Nowak,” Corporal Nowak supplied. His ‘at ease’ stance was not appreciably different from his ‘at attention’ one as far as Kinch could see.

“Corporal Nowak,” Kinch finished. He offered him a smile. “This isn’t an interrogation.” When this only received a curt nod, he gave up. “So, I take it you had some kind of run in with General Adler?”

Another curt nod. “Sunday morning,” he said tersely. “Outside a latrine.” He looked away. “He said lewd things and offered me cigarettes. I refused.” He shrugged. “A guard came by and asked what problem was. General Adler left then.”

Not especially detailed, but, assuming this was the whole story, it definitely could have been worse. Kinch wasn’t one to make assumptions. “What did the General do when you refused? Did he threaten you or strike you?

A glare. “He grabbed my arm,” Nowak admitted unwillingly. “A guard came then.” His mouth became a hard, thin line. “Nothing else happened.”

With this anger and defensiveness directed at him, Kinch did not believe that what the Corporal had said was the whole truth, but he didn’t want to force the issue now. The last thing he wanted to do was badger the one person who’d come forward. “Thank you for telling me, Corporal. Colonel Hogan will appreciate it.”

The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “Dismissed?”

“Dismissed,” Kinch said with a smile. He watched Nowak leave and waiting for the man to turn the corner before he let the smile fall. Even if he didn’t have any doubts whatsoever about the Corporal’s story, he would still want to follow this conversation up. No one could survive camp life very long and be as tense as Nowak was. He would have to ask his bunkmates whether or not this attitude was a new development.

But that was a project to pursue _after_ tonight, after this Klink business was over with.

When ten minutes had gone by without further incident, Kinch decided that he’d waited long enough. He started making the trip back to Barracks 2, making certain to make a quick appearance at the Volleyball Tournament. After all, the Colonel had wanted them to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was going on, hadn’t he? And, maybe, he would find Newkirk there.

* * *

Kinch entered Barracks 2, unsurprised to find it mostly empty. He’d seen most of his fellow bunk mates at the Volleyball Tournament, along with a good number of the rest of the camp population. While guards had looked a little nervous about the crowd, he knew they had nothing to worry about—there wasn’t going to be a riot over volleyball. Colonel Hogan would have their heads if they did such a thing!

As had been the case yesterday, Johnson and Foster were playing cards at the table. They greeted him distractedly—the cigarettes that made up the pot held most of their attention. The only “new” face here today was Sergeant Wilson who was lying on his bunk and thumbing through one of the books that were cycling through camp. From the dirty cover and the severely creased spine, it seemed that this particular book had been in circulation for quite a while.

“Captive Hearts,” Kinch said, deciphering the title from the grubby cover. It didn’t sound like a promising title, but the title didn’t necessarily reflect the contents. “Good book?” Maybe he should ask Wilson to add him to the list.

Wilson looked up from the smudged pages and grimaced. “Well, it’s in English and not about our inevitable defeat at the hands of the all-powerful _Vaterland_.” He shrugged as he returned his gaze downward. “It’s slightly better than a poke in the eye.”

Kinch chuckled. “That good, huh?” He figured he ought to ask the non-rhetorical question before Wilson re-involved himself with the book. “Have you seen Colonel Hogan?”

A thoughtful frown. “The last I’d seen him was about ten minutes ago. He was headed outside.”

Since Kinch doubted that the Colonel would be out at the tournament with all the work there was to be done, there seemed few places where his commander could be. “Can you tell him when he gets back that I’m waiting for him in his office?”

Wilson nodded distractedly as he returned his attention back to the smudged pages. “Sure.”

Seeing that the conversation was over, Kinch headed to Hogan’s office. He took a seat on the chair beside the coffee pot and switched the bug on, to see if Hogan was in Klink’s office as he suspected.

“—the truth,” Hogan insisted. Several seconds of silence passed, leaving Kinch to wonder why he was receiving no answer to his statement. Then his commander spoke again. “Now, sir, don’t look at me like that. You know I’m nothing if not honest.”

The silence stretched. Finally, Klink made his presence known. “Tell me another one,” he said, sounding annoyed. “If I have to listen to this foolishness, I want to be comfortable. Let’s finish this in my quarters.”

“Okay, Kommandant. Lead the way!”

Sounded like the Colonel had his hands full. Kinch switched off the bug and considered how long he ought to wait. His news was important but it wasn’t urgent, and he still had some personal business to attend to. Business that he hated having left to stew for as long as he had already.

On the other hand, at least he knew where Hogan was—that was more than could be said for Newkirk. He hadn’t seen the Englishman since Roll. Granted, Kinch had cut out quickly to continue his investigation, but he’d been out and about. If Newkirk had been out and about too, Kinch was certain he would have run into him. Since Newkirk also wasn’t in the barracks, it probably meant he was down in the tunnels. Somewhere.

Kinch had only just decided that it would be a better use of his time to try searching out Newkirk when the door to Hogan’s bunk opened. He stood up.

Hogan’s smile was tired as he shut the door. “Wilson said you were waiting for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Kinch said, glad he had some good news to give his weary commander. “I spoke with Sergeant Jackson and, outside of being a little embarrassed that he ‘got cornered by a crazy kraut’, he seems fine. None of what we’re seeing with Klink.”

“That’s good to hear.” The relief in Hogan’s voice was plain. He took a seat on his bunk and looked up at Kinch with interest. “Did Adler corner anyone else?”

“A Corporal Nowak,” Kinch said. “From what he said, it sounded like Adler had tried to accost him rather than do what he did with Jackson. When Nowak refused, Adler grabbed his arm, but a guard came by before anything else could happen.”

“Nowak,” Hogan repeated thoughtfully. “He came in with the new batch of prisoners.”

“Yes,” Kinch confirmed. “He seemed very tense, but it’s possible that’s normal for him. I’ll check in on him when this Klink situation has been taken care of.”

Hogan nodded, satisfied. “Anyone else besides him?”

“That I can’t say for certain.” The need for secrecy on his end and the possibility of embarrassment or shame on the other made complete certainty impossible. “No one mentioned anything strange when I asked, and Nowak was the only one to come and see me.”

“I guess that’s that. Let me know how it turns out with the Corporal.” After Kinch’s assurance that he would do so, Hogan frowned. “Is everything square with you and Newkirk?”

“I haven’t had the chance to speak with him,” Kinch explained, feeling sheepish beneath the Colonel’s hard gaze. “I’ve been busy with this Adler investigation, but I plan on finding him after I’m done here.”

The hard gaze softened. “LeBeau told me that he’s still down in the tunnels fixing uniforms,” Hogan offered, smiling wryly. “I hope you have more luck with him than I’ve been having.”

Kinch returned the smile before deciding to sate his own curiosity. “How did it go with Klink?”

“How much did you hear?”

While the Colonel’s tone was merely curious, the question itself seemed odd. Clearly, if Kinch had heard enough of the conversation to know what had been discussed, he wouldn’t be asking! “Not much. Just you and Klink leaving the office.”

“Just as well—it was a fairly repetitive conversation,” Hogan said lightly. “Klink can be stubborn when he wants to be. I got him to go for it in the end, but it took some doing.” 

Kinch could imagine! “How did you get him to agree to let Adler take someone?”

A flash of something Kinch couldn’t identify entered his commander’s eyes before he smiled. “Well, you know that I’ve been having some trouble coming up with something that would be realistically in our power to do for Klink, so I figured, why not take advantage of the fact that he’s so keen to off Adler himself.”

It certainly sounded intriguing so far. “What does he think the plan is?”

Hogan leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “He thinks he’s going to be shooting Adler when they get to their destination, and that Newkirk is going to corroborate a story about Klink killing Adler in self-defense.” He inclined his head in a modest bow. “He was hesitant at first, but I got him hook, line, and sinker after I reasoned that, if Burkhalter knows enough about Adler’s activities to have heard something about them out _here_ , Adler’s superiors aren’t going to care too much that he’s gone.”

There had to be more to it than that. There had to be more than what his commander was saying. Even taking into account the fact that Klink’s gullibility was one of his more useful traits as well as his obvious hatred for Adler, it was difficult to believe that the man he’d seen yesterday—the one that had been willing to die rather than hand over a prisoner to be raped—would be willing to accept the rather flimsy justification for the plan he’d just heard.

The one thing that could be said for the Gestapo, after all, was that they looked after their own. They were going to care about Adler’s disappearance tonight, but that wouldn’t be something that they’d be able to pin on Klink. But, if Klink actually _killed_ the man? They would definitely care about that. And, if they didn’t care, if they knew about what Adler had been doing, _they_ would have already dealt with him, wouldn’t they? Klink had to know that.

But maybe that didn’t matter to him—Klink was not exactly rational these days. And he _was_ pretty gullible.

“Is something the matter, Kinch?” Again, Hogan sounded merely curious.

Kinch shook his head. “Just thinking.” He wasn’t going to start accusing the Colonel of hiding things with nothing more than his incredulousness to go on. And if Hogan _was_ hiding things, there must be a reason for it. The reason for the secrecy would come out sooner or later, and Kinch was nothing if not patient. “So, the mission is a go then.”

Hogan looked at him blankly for a moment then nodded. “Yes.” His expression became one of distaste. “Klink and Adler will take Newkirk out of camp, and the Simeons _say_ they’ll be where they need to be when they need to be, but frankly, I don’t trust them much further than I could throw Schultz.” He shook his head. “If it weren’t so important to have an alibi, _I’d_ go with them.”

A thought occurred to Kinch, and he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before now. Probably all that running around he’d been having to do. “Well, sir, _I_ could go.”

A skeptical frown. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Kinch,” Hogan said slowly, “but I don’t think you’ll pass for an SS officer.”

“No,” Kinch allowed, “but I’ll be able to blend into the night very well as long as I don’t smile.”

It wasn’t often that Kinch made jokes like this, and he was rewarded with a startled guffaw. Once his commander recovered, he looked thoughtful. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer—it’ll be easy enough to confuse Schultz about your whereabouts.” He grinned. “It’ll be good to have someone I can actually depend on—.”

A knock on the door interrupted his sentence.

Hogan frowned, clearly annoyed by the intrusion. “Come in!”

Baker was at the door, winded and very confused. “Sir,” he said as he shut the door behind him, “Colonel Klink just called Burkhalter’s office to transfer Sergeant Schultz!” He put his hand over his chest, trying to catch his breath. “I intercepted it, of course, but,” he shook his head, “the Kommandant spoke to me at first, and then he pretended to be talking to General Burkhalter.” He frowned in puzzlement. “But he never said his name, the Kommandant, I mean, never said his name _or_ Schultz’s name.”

Hogan had seemed concerned when Baker had started speaking but, once he’d reached the end of his tale, the Colonel seemed merely amused. “Looks like I haven’t been giving the fink enough credit.” He smiled at Baker. “Thanks for coming to tell me. I want you to stop blocking calls for now, but keep an ear on the phones. Let me know if anything else strange happens.”

Baker saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Once the salute had been returned, the backup radioman exited.

Fiddling with the coffeepot, Hogan sighed. “I hope Klink is a better actor than he is a liar.”

Kinch didn’t have the chance to ask what Hogan had meant by that before voices came over the bug.

“—if you’re good. Would you like that?” Adler asked, sounding like he was testing the waters.

There was a long silence before Klink spoke. His voice was soft, almost too soft for the bug to pick up. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“I thought you would,” Adler exclaimed, sounding pleased. “I think you and I are going to have fun tonight.” Then there was a gasp followed by soft sounds that Kinch identified as something he didn’t want to be listening to.

Evidently deciding that he’d heard enough as well, Hogan switched the pot off. “I think,” he said, sounding as uncomfortable as he looked, “that it’s safe to say that Adler bought whatever Klink was selling him earlier.” A thoughtful frown overcame the discomfort on his face. “Adler must have wanted Schultz transferred—not much of a surprise considering the way Schultz keeps crossing his path.”

Keeps crossing his path? Kinch knew that Schultz had interceded with Sergeant Jackson, but he hadn’t heard about any other time that the fat sergeant had gotten in the General’s way. If there had been some other time, when had it been?

Last night. Schultz had been here the night before. And Wilson and Hogan had gone with him. He’d thought that it was odd, but he’d known better than to interrupt them with questions. Besides, if it had been anything important, the Colonel would have told him about it.

Before his annoyance at being left out of the loop could take hold, he realized that Hogan wouldn’t have had a chance to tell him before now, what with him running off to Barracks 8 right after roll call. “Did Schultz have a run in with Adler last night?”

Hogan chuckled, although there was little mirth in his eyes. “You could say that. You could definitely say that.” He gestured towards his bunk. “Take a seat. This could take a while.”

Once Kinch was seated, Hogan explained that Schultz had collected Wilson last night to take care of Klink. From what he’d gathered, the Sergeant had found the Kommandant injured and had realized that there might be some uncomfortable inquires which would damage Klink’s career should the camp doctor or a doctor from town become involved.

“What kind of injuries did he have?” Kinch asked, even though the answer was fairly obvious with what Adler had been doing to Klink. But the answer surprised him.

“I think Adler beat him with a belt: his back was all blood,” Hogan said, shaking his head. “Wilson said the injury itself wasn’t so serious, but Klink was in shock by the time we got to him. Unconscious.”

 _Being beaten was no small thing_ , Kinch thought, _and would no doubt raise uncomfortable questions, but …_ “What reason would Schultz have to think that _Klink_ would get into trouble for being beaten?”

Hogan considered it for a moment before answering. “I don’t know just how much Schultz knows about what’s really going on with Klink and Adler, but he told Wilson and I that Klink was a homosexual—that _that_ was the reason he came for our medic instead of sending for a doctor.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think Schultz knows more about this than what he said, though. He practically begged Klink to let him throw Adler in the cooler.”

Clearly, Klink had not taken him up on that offer. “What did Klink say to that?”

“That it wouldn’t end there, and he’s probably right.” Hogan set his hands on his knees and told Kinch of their discovery by Adler in Klink’s bedroom, Klink’s cockamamie fish-story of somehow seeking out the prisoners’ medic _himself_ rather than being discovered by Schultz, and how Adler had let them leave.

“I thought,” Hogan continued, “that I would brief Wilson about what’s going on with Klink since, thanks to Schultz, he’s involved in this mess now too, but he’d already guessed.” He must have noticed Kinch’s surprise for he smiled widely. “Wilson said to me ‘He’s been raped, hasn’t he?’—just like that. I was a bit startled; I’m not going to lie.”

Kinch returned the smile. It was nice to have some corroboration of his thought from someone he _hadn’t_ had to convince! “And there were no problems with him?”

Hogan hesitated, his mouth turning down in thought. “Not a problem, exactly. Wilson got a bit defensive when I said that he seemed to know a lot about sodomy related injuries—which he does, actually. And then he hinted at being a safe medic to go to if a man happened to injure himself that way.” His frown deepened. “It was almost like he expected me to make something of it.” A laugh. “I don’t know what he expected me to do. It’s a little late to reprimand him, if _that’s_ what he was looking for!”

A sudden realization came upon Kinch, and he debated whether or not to share it. The debate had been short: as much as he’d rather not know one way or the other, his squeamishness was not important; this was a matter of security. “Maybe there are men _here_ who come to him for that reason, and he thinks you wouldn’t approve.”

The smile on Hogan’s face flattened into a contemplative line. “That would explain how he was acting. He probably thought I’d make that connection for myself.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair with obvious irritation. “I probably would have if I didn’t have so many other things to think about right now.”

“Of course, sir,” Kinch agreed, careful not to sound patronizing: he was probably right, after all. “If Wilson _has_ been doing what I said he might be … what will you do about it?”

Hogan looked startled before he slumped down into the chair with a tired laugh. “Aw, hell, Kinch. I can’t worry about that right now. I’ve had a hard enough time sorting out this Klink thing—I can’t think about whatever services Wilson might be offering on the side.” He grimaced and put a hand over his eyes. “I order you to forget I just said that.”

Kinch was more than a little surprised. While the Colonel had a tendency to bend the rules, he never threw out the book entirely! And it wasn’t like him to willfully hide his head in the sand. “But, sir—!”

Hogan uncovered his eyes and shook his head. “Even if I wanted to weed out the homosexuals here—assuming there are any—, what exactly would you have me do once I found them? I could give out blue discharges, but I doubt that the krauts would send them home.” He smiled tiredly. “If that’s all it would take, I’d be handing them out to everyone!” Then, more seriously, he went on, “As long as everyone does what they need to do, I don’t see a reason to concern myself with this.”

While Kinch could understand that his commander had quite a bit on his plate at the moment, he still thought the Colonel should be more curious. It wasn’t so much that Kinch _wanted_ Hogan to ‘weed out the homosexuals’ as he’d said, but shouldn’t he want to at least _know_ who Wilson was treating to keep tabs on them? If only for security’s sake?

Vowing silently to bring the subject up later, once this Klink business had been sorted out, Kinch nodded. “Understood, sir. Do you want me to let LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk know that Wilson is involved now?”

“I think that—”

His words were cut off by another knock on the door. “What is this,” Hogan muttered grumpily as he stood, “Grand Central Station?” He walked over to the door and pulled it open wide.

A nervous Corporal Langenscheidt stood in the doorway. As soon as his eyes lit on Colonel Hogan, he looked deeply relieved. “Colonel Hogan. General Adler has ordered me to fetch the prisoners’ medic.”

It was lucky that Langenscheidt had been the one to receive the order: most of the other guards wouldn’t have sought out the Senior POW before carrying that order out—especially considering who had given it. Knowing what Adler was capable of, Kinch was glad that Wilson wouldn’t be going into this alone. But what was Wilson going _into_?

Hogan nodded curtly. “All right, Corporal, I’m coming with you.” He turned to face Kinch. “Why don’t you go see to Newkirk while I sort this out?”

“I will, sir.”

“Please hurry,” Langenscheidt urged, nervous again. “General Adler told me he did not want to wait.”

Hogan gave the guard a smile. “Lead the way.”

Kinch waited for a few minutes after the two had left before heading out into the barracks. Foster’s grin was as large as his winnings pile as Johnson demanded a rematch. It was always a fairly amusing argument, but Kinch had seen it play out many times before—and he had important business to attend to—so he did not linger. Once he was down in the tunnels, he made his way to where he’d been told he could find Newkirk. When he reached the ‘fitting room’, he found the Englishman making repairs on a set of civilian clothes. Carter sat in the corner, looking exhausted.

“Aren’t we done patching things yet?” the demolitions man didn’t quite whine. “We don’t need _all_ of these for tonight!”

“Hush,” Newkirk ordered fondly. “Just think of it as preparing for the future. Besides, I was just thinking the other day, I’ve been letting things get too tatty before I fix them: this will save me work and fabric.”

“But you’ve been at it all night!” Carter exclaimed.

And, from the look of things, he’d had Carter at it all night with him. Kinch smiled. Maybe it was time to come to the rescue. “I can cover for you, Carter,” he offered walked in, announcing his presence. “If Newkirk doesn’t mind seeing a new face.”

Newkirk hesitated. He looked Kinch in the eye before shrugging. “All right,” he said, waving his hand dismissively like a bored monarch as he turned from Kinch to Carter, “you can go.”

Carter jumped to his feet, not making even a token effort to hide his relief. “Thanks Kinch! Bye, Newkirk!” Then he was gone like a shot, as though afraid that Kinch or Newkirk would change his mind.

The Englishman watched him go, looking slightly amused.

Now that Carter was gone, there seemed to be no reason to put this off any longer. “Newkirk—”

“I’ll need some more black thread,” Newkirk interrupted, his expression closed as he returned his attention back to the suit.

However, Kinch was not going to be dissuaded from his mission so easily. “I just wanted to apologize for losing my temper yesterday.”

Surprise flicked over the other man’s face. “Did the Colonel put you up to this?” he demanded, turning away from the clothes allowing Kinch to see the suspicion in his eyes.

Kinch smiled. “No, he didn’t, Peter. It was my fault for letting it get so far out of hand. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Newkirk’s stony expression went unchanged. Then his shoulders slumped. “It wasn’t all your fault,” he admitted. “I’m still not convinced you’re right about any of it, but I understand now that it’s serious to you.” His mouth turned up slightly. “I’ll try not to rile you up about this anymore.” He reconsidered. “Leastwise, not on purpose.”

For Newkirk, this was nothing short of a full-fledged apology. Newkirk seldom apologized for anything, and he only did it _then_ if he thought it was warranted.

“I appreciate the effort,” Kinch said.

Newkirk shrugged. “What are mates for?” Without waiting for a response, he clapped his hands together. “Now, I still need some black thread!”

Kinch laughed, relieved that at least something was back to normal. “Yessir!”


	54. Stepping Into the Parlor

Hogan left his office and Kinch behind to follow Langenscheidt out into the main barracks. While he didn’t have enough information to know yet for certain, it seemed pretty clear that _Adler_ summoning Wilson was not a good sign. Damn it, he’d told Klink to give in!

Perhaps Adler didn’t need Wilson for Klink. In which case, this summons was even _less_ encouraging. Either way, he’d be seeing for himself soon enough. He looked to Wilson’s bunk and saw that Wilson was still there. Apparently, the medic hadn’t allowed the German corporal’s arrival to interrupt his reading. “Sergeant Wilson,” Hogan commanded briskly, “get your medical bag together—you’re making another house call.”

Wilson looked up from his book, surprised. “Yes, sir,” he said, setting his book down. It took him less than a minute to collect his kit and put on his jacket. “All set.”

Langenscheidt seemed a little calmer as Wilson and Hogan followed him outside. “General Adler wants us to wait in the Kommandant’s office.”

Hogan let himself frown. “Did he happen to say why?”

“No,” came the uneasy reply. “He only told me not to keep him waiting, as I told you.” The Corporal opened the door to the office building and held it, waiting for Hogan and Wilson to enter before he entered himself. Hogan noted that Hilda was not at her desk, and he spared a moment to wonder where she (and Schultz, too, for that matter) had gone off to before remembering that Schultz had said something about taking her home. He filed it away to concern himself with later as he moved on into the Kommandant’s office.

Klink was nowhere to be seen, but General Adler was. He was sitting behind Klink’s desk, the telephone receiver in his hand.

“—and finish around midnight,” he was saying, looking pleased. He glanced up, noticed them, and then ignored them. “Yes, yes. We’ll clean up when we’re done.” He cocked his head. “Don’t worry so much, Herr Hirsch,” he admonished lightly. “Yes … Yes … Of course, payment in full, as promised.” With a final affirmative noise and a somewhat exasperated goodbye, he hung up the receiver.

At last, he acknowledged his visitors. “Corporal.”

Langenscheidt saluted. “General, I have brought the prisoners’ medic, as you have requested.”

“And Colonel Hogan too, I see.” Alder said, lacing his fingers on the desktop. “I don’t believe I asked for the Senior POW. Why is he here?” Despite the words, the General seemed almost pleased.

At least, he did to Hogan. Apparently, the guard didn’t see it the same way, and he made a valiant effort to come even more to attention. “The Senior POW insisted on coming, sir.”

“I understand that he often invites himself where he isn’t invited.” Adler stood, smiling as he picked up a bag from the side of the desk. “However, now that he is here, he might as well stay. What are your duties now, Corporal?”

“I’m assigned to the Kommandant’s office until this afternoon, sir.”

Adler frowned for a moment before his expression shifted into something more neutral. “If there is something you need from either the Kommandant or me, knock. Understood?”

There was no mistaking the guard’s confusion and uneasiness when he saluted again. “Yes, sir.”

The salute was returned, and Adler turned away from Langenscheidt like a cat, bored with his toy. He opened the door to Klink’s quarters, a flourish of his hand indicating that Hogan and Wilson should go first. “Gentlemen?”

Hogan nodded to Wilson, and they walked passed Adler to enter. It took less than a second to see that Klink wasn’t here either. Where _was_ he? “What’s this about, General?”

Adler closed the door after them, his pleasant smile not quite convincing. “Nothing that concerns you, Colonel Hogan,” he said before turning his attention to Wilson. “Sergeant, I couldn’t help but notice that you do nice work with bandages.”

Wilson blinked. “Thank you,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment.

“Unfortunately,” Adler went on as though Wilson hadn’t spoken, “Colonel Klink managed to undo all of your hard work.”

Whatever had happened to Wilson’s ‘hard work’, Hogan was willing to bet that Klink hadn’t done it himself. He just wondered what the point of removing the bandages had been for Adler. Hadn’t … hadn’t ‘reminding Klink of his place’ been enough? “What a shame.”

“I have all the supplies I need to do the job myself,” Adler said, gesturing to the bag he held in his other hand, “but since you do such nice work, and since,” his smile became slightly too wide, “the Kommandant went to the trouble of finding you last night, I would like _you_ to do this.” He held the bag out for Wilson to take. “No objections, I trust?”

Wilson’s look to Hogan asked for guidance.

Frankly, that _this_ was all that Adler had wanted the medic for was a relief. From what he’d said, Klink had no _new_ injuries to be bandaged—just old ones. As it seemed that Adler wanted nothing more than that, there seemed to be no reason not to cooperate with him in this. He nodded.

“No, sir.” Gingerly taking the bag, Wilson glanced inside it before looking around in confusion. “Where’s the Kommandant?”

Adler’s smile was still too wide as he grabbed Wilson’s and Hogan’s shoulders and forced them to turn around. “He’s waiting for us in the bedroom.”

Hogan allowed himself to be pushed forward and Wilson, following his example, allowed himself to be pushed as well.

It was obvious, when they entered the bedroom, that Klink had not been expecting them and, now that they were here, he was not happy to see them. He stared up at Adler from where he sat on the bed. “Wh-what are they doing here?” he asked as he pulled his robe more tightly closed.

“Is there a problem?” Adler returned, the amusement on his face spoiling his baffled tone. “The prisoners’ medic was good enough for you to seek out last night, wasn’t he?”

There was a slightly dazed look in Klink’s eyes, and Hogan worried that the man had decided to check out again. Now would not be a good time for it: General Adler did not strike him as the patient sort. Hogan wondered if Adler would bother trying to control his temper since it would be fairly obvious now who had been responsible for the man’s injuries the night before if Hogan hadn’t already known.

“Wasn’t he?” Adler pressed, a definite edge to his voice.

Klink’s eyes refocused on Adler, and he nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, he was, General.”

“I can understand why—he does nice work.” His smile turned into a frown, and he glared at Wilson, who seemed very ill at ease. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get started!”

The idea came to Hogan in a flash. If he could convince the General, this would be the perfect way to get a word in with Klink. He put his arm out in front of Wilson, stopping him from moving forward, under the guise of gesturing helplessly. “I’m sorry, General,” Hogan said with an apologetic tone, “but Sergeant Wilson gets, uh, well,” he looked to the bewildered Wilson, pitying, before returning his gaze to Adler, “he gets performance anxiety around strangers.”

Adler’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean your medic can’t treat strangers?”

Hogan shook his head. “No, no. He can _treat_ strangers, but he can’t work on his patients with strangers staring at him.” He sighed sadly. “Shell-shock, you know; terrible shame.”

“I see,” Adler said in the tones of a man who didn’t quite believe what he was hearing but not quite certain enough to dismiss it outright.

Close enough. “As long as you’re not in the same room, Wilson will be able to do his job,” Hogan said reassuringly. “So, would you mind, sir?”

For several seconds, Adler merely stared back at Hogan, as though Hogan’s face could give him the answer to this riddle. Either finding what he’d been looking for or just giving up for the moment, Adler nodded slowly. “Very well, Colonel Hogan.” He turned his eyes onto Klink, who was watching the scene unfolding in front of him with clear disbelief. “I will be out in the living room.” He looked to Wilson, who was slightly flushed. “Get me the instant you are finished.”

Wilson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Appeased, Adler walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Wilson sighed. “Performance anxiety?” he asked, sounding distinctly put out.

Hogan grinned and clapped the medic on the back. “It’ll be our little secret,” he said with a wink. After receiving a tolerant headshake from the medic, he softened his grin into a smile as he turned his attention to Klink. “How did it go, sir?”

Klink looked down. “I did what you told me to do.” He slumped and winced. “What happens now?”

“Now Wilson will fix up your back again,” Hogan said easily. The next part would not be taken well. “Then you should let him take a look at your … _other_ injuries.”

Slowly, Klink raised his head. “What did you tell him, Hogan?” His tone was an interesting mixture of anger and fear.

“I didn’t have to tell him,” Hogan said honestly. “Not when Schultz told us that you were a homosexual.” At Klink’s open-mouthed shock, he hastened to add. “I think he figured he had to give us _some_ explanation for why he couldn’t get the camp doctor for you.”

Klink’s mouth worked soundlessly as his already pale face turned ashen. “He … he said that I was...” He buried his face into his hands and, for a moment, Hogan thought his shoulders were shaking with sobs. But then he heard the raspy laughter and realized that the Kommandant was in the middle of a different kind of breakdown. “Why does everyone think I’m dating him!” he exclaimed once the laughter subsided, sounding incredulously amused.

Who was ‘everyone’? Was there someone besides Schultz who had some idea of what was going on? Deciding that, while it was an important question, it wasn’t so important _just_ now, Hogan had been about to assure the Kommandant that Wilson didn’t think that he and Adler were dating when Wilson took the opportunity to speak up for himself.

“I know that the General raped you, sir,” Wilson said simply. “The bruising and the fact that you were more afraid of him than you were of exposure told me that.”

Klink lifted his head from his hands to look blankly at Wilson.

Was Klink just surprised that Wilson had addressed him at all, or had he not understood what Wilson had said? Either was possible, Hogan supposed—perhaps Klink had not come across that particular word in his English learning, or maybe Klink was hung up on protocol. In any case, it was time to get down to business.

“Suffice to say,” Hogan said, forcing brightness into his tone, “that Sergeant Wilson knows what’s going on, and he can tell you what kind of shape you’re in if you’ll let him examine you.”

But Klink was already shaking his head. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Exactly the response he’d expected with a reason that wasn’t too difficult to guess. While Hogan didn’t know how invasive Wilson’s examination would be, having taken note of how easily Klink panicked these days, it was doubtful that he’d be able to be still for whatever Wilson’s examination would entail. “I’m sure Wilson could give you a sedative.”

Like so many things he’d said to the new Klink, this had been the wrong thing to say. “No!” he exclaimed, his hands clutching convulsively on the blanket beneath him. “No, I’m not going to let you drug me!” He stared up at Hogan, terror in his wide eyes. “Please, not that.”

Hogan raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right,” he said, doing his best to hide his frustration, “no drugs.” He didn’t know why Klink was objecting so strenuously to the idea, and he didn’t have a way of sussing it out now. “But you really should let him take a look at you—it’s going to matter now if you’re seriously injured. And he has some expertise in this area, so he can help you.”

A shudder went through Klink. “I can’t do it,” he said, his breathing starting to speed up. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” He shook his head, his hands arms coming to wrap around himself. “I can’t.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Hogan turned away from the huddled Kommandant to look at Wilson, surprised by the request. Wilson generally spoke his mind anyway, so asking for permission like this meant he was going to say something Hogan definitely wouldn’t like. “Permission granted. What is it?”

Wilson pursed his lips thoughtful for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “I think you should leave, sir. You’re agitating my patient.”

It was tempting to remark on the medic’s bluntness but, at the same time, he could plainly see for himself that Wilson was not wrong. Klink looked on the verge of an all-out panic attack and nothing Hogan had said so far seemed to be reversing that condition. “Would you like me to leave, sir?” He was careful to keep his tone merely curious.

“No,” Klink said, shaking his head sharply. “No, not with Adler out there. I can’t … I can’t leave you to him.”

So, the answer was ‘yes’. Well, maybe some privacy would make Klink more comfortable. Maybe Wilson alone could convince Klink to be sensible. And maybe pigs would fly. “I think I can handle Adler,” Hogan said, laying on a thick layer of easy bravado. “Don’t worry about that.”

It was clear that this, like every other word he’d said to this man in the last five minutes, did not comfort him even a little bit. “Hogan,” he pleaded, “y-you don’t know,” he took a shaky breath, “you don’t know him like, like I do.” His face was lined with worry. “Please. _Please_ don’t underestimate him.”

A cough from Wilson.

No, Hogan didn’t need to be told again. “Don’t worry about it,” Hogan repeated with a gentle smile. “I’ll take care of Adler—you let Sergeant Wilson take care of you.” Not waiting for the Kommandant to make further objections, he strode to the door and walked out into the living room. Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he saw General Adler reclining on the couch.

The General greeted his arrival with a confused frown. “The bandaging is finished already?”

“No, General,” Hogan said, his easy smile coming to him with difficulty. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t needed.”

“I see,” Adler said distractedly as he stared at Hogan.

Knowing what he knew about this man, it was not difficult to tell that the German was in the process of undressing him with his eyes and liking what he saw. It was uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, but Hogan was used to hiding discomfort. He adopted an expression of slightly insubordinate boredom.

After entirely too long, Adler leaned back against the couch and laced his fingers behind his head. “You truly are a fine specimen,” he declared with a smirk. “If the reports I read are correct, you’re quite clever as well.”

Hogan ducked his head in obvious mock modesty. “Well, sir, I work with what I have.”

“And so modest!” Adler exclaimed, a sort of wicked amusement entering his eyes. “It’s really no wonder he’s infatuated with you.”

The puzzlement he allowed to show was not an invention. Who was he talking about? Hochstetter? As far as Hogan knew, Hochstetter was the only one writing reports. But, also as far as he knew, Hochstetter had never been impressed by his appearance or his ‘modesty.’ “Who do you mean, sir?”

“Perhaps you can answer a question for me,” Adler suggested slyly.

There seemed to be little point in arguing that he’d asked his question first. “Depends on the question.”

Adler brought his hands down to rest on his thighs as he sat up. “What did the Kommandant say to you last night?” While his posture was relaxed, the words came out with a hint of ice.

“I wasn’t really listening,” Hogan said. “I think he said something like ‘What are _you_ doing here?’ and ‘I didn’t ask for Hogan, Dummkopf!’”

“Really?” Adler raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t say why he’d needed a medic?”

“He wouldn’t say.” He shrugged. “Schultz kept asking but he wouldn’t say.”

It was difficult to tell whether or not Adler was buying this. Something about what Hogan had said had clearly peaked Adler’s interest, but it was impossible to tell just by looking what that something was. “So, you’re not curious at all?”

“No.” He furrowed his brow with confusion and suspicion. “Should I be?”

Adler pursed his lips for a moment, considering. Then he smiled. “Tell me, Colonel, what do you think of our esteemed Colonel Klink?”

Now what difference did it make to Adler what Hogan thought of his warden? And what answer was he looking for? He allowed the confused look to remain. “What about him?”

“What do you think of him?” Adler was definitely impatient for this answer. “Just be honest. Do you like him?”

“Do I _like_ him?” Hogan asked slowly, incredulously. Were they really having this conversation? Going by the eager nod he got in answer, apparently so. “I like him as much as I like any other kraut: not at all.” He inclined his head towards Adler with a smirk. “Present company included, of course.”

“Of course,” Adler echoed lightly, seemingly unfazed by the insult. “The reports also mentioned your disrespect for authority.”

Hogan put on a wounded expression. “Now, that’s unfair, sir—I only have disrespect for _your_ authority.” Playing chicken with Adler hadn’t been his intention when he’d come out here, but he was interested in seeing how far he could push him before he pushed back.

Adler’s eyes narrowed even as his smile widened into a grin. “Such spirit! Such arrogance. I look forward to stripping you of it. Perhaps I can teach you some respect.”

If the leer Adler was giving him was any indication, his arrogance wasn’t the only thing he wanted to strip off of him. Hogan covered his disgust with a cheeky smile. “You wouldn’t be the first to try, sir.”

Adler got off the couch in one fluid motion. “No, but I will be the first to succeed.”

“Big words.” Hogan forced himself to look impassive as Adler approached him. Adopting a more defensive stance would have told Adler that Hogan had some idea that the man in front of him was something more than just a pompous windbag. Besides, Adler would have to be a moron to actually try anything more than posturing with Langenscheidt just a shout away.

Even so, he found himself wishing that he hadn’t positioned himself in front of a wall. That hadn’t been very clever.

Adler halted about two feet in front of him, his own stance unmistakably predatory as his hungry eyes raked Hogan’s form. “Patience is a difficult virtue to master, wouldn’t you agree, Colonel?”

“Good things come to those who wait,” Hogan rejoined lightly. How stupid _was_ Adler? Was the man incapable of controlling himself, or did he _want_ Hogan to realize he was being leered at? The bruises, the very noticeable bruises, that Adler had left on Klink came to mind. Maybe Adler _couldn’t_ control himself.

Adler licked his lips. “I’ve never been good at waiting.”

And maybe Adler _was_ stupid enough to—

Before Hogan could finish the thought, Adler abruptly closed the space between them, his hands roughly forcing Hogan’s shoulders against the paneling. His mouth twisted into something lascivious. “I want something good now.” He leaned in close.

Without conscious thought, Hogan slid down the wall, out from under Adler’s hands, to fall to his knees. He scrambled out from between the wall and the General, coming to his feet quickly, but was unable to distance himself from the other man in time.

Adler’s hold on his arm was tight as he pulled Hogan back towards him. “Not so fast, Colonel. I’m not finished.”

“Well, I am!” Hogan pulled out of Adler’s grip with more difficulty than he’d expected. When Adler took hold of his arm again, Hogan realized that Adler was faster than he’d thought as well. “Let go of me!” He wrenched his arm away a second time, careful to use the momentum to move away from the General.

Distance. He needed get some distance between them, regroup. Think. Come up with a plan. He ran behind the couch and stared over the back cushion at an extremely amused Adler and decided that he _really_ didn’t want to start yelling for Langenscheidt. It would be embarrassing, for one thing. For another, he didn’t know what the hell he’d say to the guard once he came in.

Unfortunately, if Adler wouldn’t relent, he would have to. While Hogan was sure he’d win in a fight, actually hitting the General would cause far too many complications. Which was a shame, because he had never wanted to hit someone so much before in his life.

Adler was not in pursuit at the moment—he was too busy laughing at him. “So skittish, Colonel!” His grin bore a striking resemblance to a schnauzer’s. “It’s only one little kiss.”

“I don’t kiss on the first date!” Hogan said hotly, hoping the ridiculous banter might buy him some time to think of something better than dragging Schultz, Jr. into this mess. “You didn’t even buy me dinner!”

“You’re too old fashioned.” Adler’s progress towards the couch was slow but inexorable. “But I _could_ make it worth your while.”

“Not interested.” Hogan started moving from his position as Adler’s steps brought him to his side of the couch. As Adler came closer, Hogan was careful to keep an equal distance of couch between them. If this situation weren’t so serious, he’d be tempted to laugh at the absurdity of his being chased around a couch by another guy. However, seeing as the guy in question was a barely metaphorical monster, it really wasn’t funny. “You’re not my type.”

“Then maybe you’d prefer Colonel Klink?”

The question was crazy enough to stop Hogan mid-step. He recovered and made up for the loss before Adler could take advantage of his shock, but it had been close. “Not a chance,” he stated calmly, refusing to give Adler the satisfaction of knowing just how much the question had startled him. “I prefer blondes with big breasts—he just doesn’t fit the bill.”

Adler’s expression of sadness was too overdone to be genuine. “Pity. He’ll be so disappointed.” Then he shrugged. “Of course, it doesn’t matter if _you’re_ interested, I suppose.” His lascivious smile returned. “He and I will have a lot of fun with you.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Hogan complained, his mind racing. Adler couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like he was saying. Klink couldn’t be the other man Adler had been talking about before—Klink had to be practically _begged_ not to kill himself to keep just this very thing from happening; the idea that Klink would want to _participate_ in it was nothing short of ludicrous. 

“You can say anything you please,” Adler said simply, “but it won’t make a difference. We’ll both have you.”

That would be the day! Perhaps the other man Adler was talking about was Hirsch? True, the name brought no one to mind, but Hogan didn’t know the name of every German he’d ever come in contact with! But then, if this Hirsch wasn’t someone he’d met, how would _Hirsch_ have heard of him? Only the Gestapo had access to Hochstetter’s reports.

Was there another member of the Gestapo working with Adler? Like a partner? That was all he needed! If there _were_ a partner … they’d have to take him out as well, or else they’d be back at square one again.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Hogan asked, bringing forth his inner supply of insubordinate cheek. “I can’t imagine _anyone_ wanting to do _anything_ with a man like you.”

For the first time in this conversation, the insult seemed to actually affect Adler. Anger colored his face and remained in his cheeks as his mouth turned up into an unpleasant sneer. “Oh, he enjoys our time together very much, I assure you. We’ve become _quite_ close.”

“Who. Is. He,” Hogan bit out, hoping the display of frustration would hasten Adler into goading him with the information he wanted.

The smirk he received told Hogan that his plan had succeeded. “You know him quite well, Colonel.” He chuckled as though he were about to share the funniest punch line he’d ever heard. “In fact, your medic is looking at him right now!”

Well, at least Hogan wouldn’t have to worry about loose ends in that case. But it didn’t make a lick of sense. “You’re lying,” he stated flatly, uncertain that Adler actually was. He hadn’t _looked_ or _sounded_ like he’d been lying.

Adler’s expression was utterly sanguine. “Believe what you like—you’ll find out the truth for yourself sooner or later.” His lips pulled back to reveal too many teeth. “Tonight, I plan to—”

Whatever his plan had been went unsaid as a hesitant knock sounded on the office door. Adler stopped his pursuit and turned in time to see Corporal Langenscheidt enter the living room.

The guard immediately saluted. “You have a phone call, General.”

Adler frowned. “From whom?”

“Berlin, sir.” Langenscheidt fidgeted under Adler’s glare. “He said it was important.”

With a distinctly put upon air, Adler nodded. “Tell him I will be there directly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Langenscheidt had hurried off to continue playing secretary, Adler turned to Hogan, his disappointment clear. “You and I will have to finish this conversation later.”

Hogan shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think I have anything else to say to you, General.”

Adler’s eyes narrowed into angry slits before his mouth curved up into a nasty smile. “I think you and I will have a lot to talk about after your Corporal comes back tonight.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his back on Hogan and strode towards the office door.

And then he was gone. Hogan allowed himself to relax, feeling a bit foolish for the amount of relief he felt. Yes, he definitely owed Klink an apology. He _had_ underestimated Adler … by overestimating his intelligence! If he’d wanted to call out to Langenscheidt, the guard would have heard him. True, Adler would be able to deny whatever Hogan chose to say, but it was still a foolish risk considering how much the General had to lose.

But then, when _wasn’t_ Adler taking foolish risks?

Shaking his head, he came around to the front of the couch and sat down. No, foolish risk or not on Adler’s part, he _should_ have expected Adler to try something even without Klink’s warning. Klink had said that the General had wanted _him_ originally—it seemed that the temptation had been too much for Adler in the end, risks be damned.

Hogan wondered how long it would have taken Adler to give up the chase if it hadn’t been for Langenscheidt’s timely intervention. Adler hadn’t struck him as the sort to give up easily, after all. The one (and _only_ thing) he and Adler had in common. Perhaps he’d be able to convince Klink of that, some day.

Thinking of Klink brought the other thing that Hogan had been trying not to think about to mind. Being a seasoned liar himself, Hogan could usually pick up on the lies of others, especially blatant ones, but it seemed that either Adler was a better liar than Hogan or else Adler had actually believed what he’d said about Klink.

So what exactly had Klink said to give Adler the impression that he wanted to... that he was interested in him that way? Why would he have _wanted_ to give Adler that impression? And, more importantly, _how_ had Klink managed to convince Adler of that? While Klink had proven that there was more to him than Hogan had realized, the man still couldn’t lie.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Hogan tried not to follow the train of thought to its logical conclusion. Because it didn’t matter what Klink had said, or what Adler thought, or what Adler was imagining: all that mattered was that they were on for tonight.

But what was it that Klink hadn’t wanted to tell him until _after_ all this was over. The thing that Klink believed would have made Hogan less eager to save his life? Was it paranoid of him to think there might be a connection between Adler’s certainty and this? Did he honestly have enough clues to think what he was thinking?

Or had this encounter with Adler really rattled him that much?

He stood up quickly, annoyed with himself. He’d been caught off-guard, true. But he hadn’t been rattled. It took much more than clumsy innuendo, ham-fisted posturing, and being chased around a sofa to do _that_. It took more than being pinned against a wall. It took more than just being able to duck away from a kiss.

There was no point in thinking about Adler’s delusions or Klink’s reasons. He’d be getting the answers to his questions directly from the fink’s mouth in less than 24 hours, if he wanted them. Unlike General Adler, Hogan _had_ patience.

He just had to stop thinking about this.

Tacitly admitting to himself that he was looking for a distraction, he glanced towards the bedroom door and frowned. It couldn’t be taking _this_ long for Wilson to bandage Klink’s back. It hadn’t taken this long last night, anyway. Maybe he should go and see how they were getting on—for all he knew, Klink’s paranoia was keeping Wilson from doing what he needed to. Decision made, he made his way to the bedroom. He’d turned the doorknob, with the intention of merely peeking in to find out if his presence was needed, and had been about to open the door when the screaming started.


	55. Final Exam

Klink watched Hogan walk out the door, feeling uneasy for many reasons. While it was good that now there was only one man left to watch rather than two, the fact that the Sergeant had ushered Hogan out worried him. He was also worried about what awaited the Senior POW in the living room—it was fairly obvious to Klink that Hogan had not taken his warning seriously. He only hoped that the American would not pay too dearly for that arrogance.

Turning his attention to the medic, he saw that Wilson was busy pulling things out of a paper bag. The Sergeant shook his head at the pile of gauze and bandages he was making on the bureau. “That General must have robbed a hospital,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Morphine?” He pulled a small, glass bottle from the bag with clear confusion. “How does he expect me to use this?” In a smooth movement, he deposited the bottle into his pocket. Then he frowned down into the paper bag and pulled out a hypodermic needle. “Very thorough.” This also found a new home but in the medic’s medical bag.

Were all Americans kleptomaniacs? Klink didn’t particularly care that the Sergeant was stealing from Adler, but it seemed odd to be so brazen about it. Of course, considering what this man knew about him, perhaps he didn’t fear whatever repercussions Klink might have in mind. He shuddered at the thought. He’d just about had his fill of people holding things over his head.

Evidently having found (and taken) everything of value, the medic set the bag on the floor. “I’d like to take a look at your back now, if you don’t mind.”

As long as that was the only part of him the medic wanted to see, Klink thought he’d be able to handle it. “Just my back?” he asked, wanting to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of trick. Of course, if it _was_ a trick, asking him wouldn’t do much good, would it?

Wilson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

With both a physical and mental effort, Klink slid the bathrobe down off his shoulders and removed his arms from the sleeves.

Far too quickly for Klink’s comfort, the medic had gone behind him, out of his line of sight. “Looks a bit raw,” he commented. A slightly cool hand laid itself on Klink’s back and Klink started at the unexpected touch. If Wilson noticed it, he didn’t react to it. “Not hot: that’s good.” The hand came away. “But it’s not very clean,” he continued, his tone disapproving. Wilson returned to the bag by the bureau and pulled out a bottle. The smell of rubbing alcohol permeated the air as soon as he opened it. “This will sting a bit, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

After Wilson made a quick trip to the bathroom to fetch a damp towel, he got to work. Klink did his best to focus on his breathing rather than on the hands touching his back. It was difficult because, thanks to the sting of the alcohol, he was far too aware of that part of his body.

Once the medic had finished cleaning, he sounded much happier. “Could you raise your arms for me, sir, so I can put a bandage on this?”

Klink did so, wishing that he could stop himself from shaking. With his arms up, his shattered nerves were on full display.

“Easy does it, sir,” Wilson said. “We’ll have this done in a jiff.”

It was difficult for Klink to stay still for the length of time a jiff turned out to be, but he was rather proud of himself that he was able to keep his panic under control long enough for the medic to finish—even with the medic practically hugging him each time the bandages went around his chest.

Wilson wiped his hands on the towel and nodded with satisfaction. “I think it will heal up nicely, although it’s too soon to say whether or not it’ll scar.”

Neither possessing the dexterity to look at his own back nor ever planning to let anyone ever see him naked again, he honestly didn’t care if it scarred or not. “Are you finished?” he asked, the question coming out far more curtly than it had a right to. As uncomfortable as this had been, this man _had_ just done him a favor … for the second time.

Setting the towel on the bureau, Wilson’s expression was thoughtful—perhaps a bit crafty? “Colonel Hogan tells me that you’re having trouble walking without a painkiller,” he remarked conversationally. “Is that true?”

Klink debated whether to deny it or to counter that it was none of his _or_ Colonel Hogan’s business before deciding that there was no reason to antagonize the medic. Not when he and the Sergeant were alone with no one for Klink to call out to. While a part of his mind argued that this fear was pretty ridiculous considering the fact that said Sergeant had just got finished patching him up, his paranoia spoke with greater conviction. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Are there any other problems?” There was no change in Wilson’s expression. “Are you experiencing bleeding? Trouble with elimination? It’s too early to look for sores, I suppose.”

“Sores?” Klink repeated despite himself, confused. Bleeding and the other, he could understand, but sores?

“Did General Adler use a condom?”

Feeling a sick twisting in his stomach but not certain why, Klink managed a quiet “No.”

Wilson looked back at him with sympathy. “It’s entirely possible that General Adler passed on a venereal disease to you.”

Klink blinked at the other man, feeling the hysterics bubbling in his stomach threatening to spill out into his mouth. The idea had simply never occurred to him as something that he should be worried about. But then, it did make sense. He didn’t know how many men Adler had used this way—what were the odds that every man had been clean? What were the odds that Adler had been clean to start with?

“—?”

Shaking his head, Klink forced himself to focus on what was happening now. “What did you say?”

Wilson repeated his question. Having never expected to be asked this and not wanting to have to think of the answer, Klink was caught completely by surprise. “I-I didn’t,” he sputtered, “I didn’t spend much time looking, Sergeant!” When the Sergeant merely stared back at him, he felt some of his affront at being asked the question abate. The reason why the medic wanted to know was pretty obvious. And, while he hadn’t spent much time looking, he had seen. He shuddered with revulsion, recalling that he’d been forced to do more than just look. “I didn’t notice anything on his penis.”

Wilson considered this. “He might be clean then, or he might be just a carrier. You’ll probably want to get looked at later on, just to be on the safe side.” Before Klink could inform the medic that he had no intention of having _anything_ looked at, Wilson continued his casual interrogation. “From what Colonel Hogan said when he was discussing your case with me, it sounds like General Adler has sodomized you more than once. Is that so?”

Klink stared down at his bandaged chest. Shame and anger made his throat tight. What right did Hogan have to _discuss_ what that monster had done to him! And now he had to admit that he’d let Adler defile him over and over again. At least the true depth of his shame would go unsaid. It was a small comfort. “Yes.”

“How many times?”

“He … it was five times,” Klink found himself answering, uncertain why he was doing so. Perhaps it was the other man’s manner—the undemanding way he was asking. Or maybe his reserves were so drained that he couldn’t summon up the energy to resist. _Or maybe_ , he thought with a savage stab of self-loathing, _Adler has trained me too well._

The medic looked shocked. “He assaulted you five times in the last four days?”

Assault? Klink supposed that the word was a fair description of what had happened. At least the Sergeant wasn’t using that other word instead. If things were a little different—if _he_ were a little different—, that word would apply to his circumstances. As it stood … he didn’t deserve to be relieved of his responsibility for what he had done. He nodded.

“Well,” Wilson said after another moment of silence, “even the most careful and keen men might have some trouble getting around after _that_ .” A sudden dark look appeared on his face. “Of course, I doubt careful and keen have much to do with what you’ve been through.” He shook his head. “Did he use a lubricant when he sodomized you?”

The question brought him back to his office, back to the first time, when Adler had him bent over his own desk. His stomach twisted with the remembered sensation, with nausea. He clenched his fists tightly, the pain of his fingernails biting into his palms bringing him back to his bedroom, back here with Sergeant Wilson’s question. “Th-the first time.” He stared down at his aching hands. “I don’t, I don’t know if he did the other times. I didn’t see.”

“Better than I expected to hear, to be honest,” he said shortly.

That wasn’t the reaction Klink was expecting to his answer. He didn’t know really what he’d expected the medic to say, uncertain for the reason for the question in the first place, but it sounded like Wilson had taken his words as somewhat good news. He looked up. “It is?”

The medic smiled grimly. “After seeing what the General did to your back, as well as the bruising you have, I’m surprised he did anything to save you some pain. Perhaps it’s just the frequency that’s causing your trouble.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Of course, it’s impossible to rule out more serious injuries unless I take a look.” Possibly mistaking Klink’s distress at the thought for some kind of insult to the medic’s skills, Wilson quickly assured him, “I know what I’m doing, sir. I can stitch small tears easily enough, and infection shouldn’t be a problem—we’ve got plenty of sulfa to spare right now.”

The assurance reminded Klink of the question that had bothered him since Hogan had raised the suggestion of being examined, and he asked it quickly before he lost his nerve to. “How do you know—how do you know how to treat,” he couldn’t bring himself to be more explicit, “my kind of injury?”

There was something distinctly uneasy breaking through the medic’s professional mask. “You come across this sort of thing from time to time.”

That didn’t sound especially encouraging. “How often have _you_ come across ‘this sort of thing’?”

“Occasionally. Here and there.”

Well, that was just perfect! And _that_ was what Hogan called _expertise_ ? “If you have only come across this a few times,” he said carefully, not wanting to provoke the medic, but wanting to understand this point before he agreed to anything, “how can you say that you know what you’re doing?” His raised his hands in surrender. “I mean no disrespect to you, but I, I don’t think I want to put myself through this if you don’t really know what you’re doing.”

“I do know what I’m doing,” Wilson insisted. “It’s just...” he trailed off, his shoulders slumping. “Can you keep a secret, Kommandant?” The furrow in his brow deepened, making him look genuinely distressed. “I need you to keep it from Colonel Hogan, too—can you do that?”

Klink stared back at the medic, shocked by the request. What was so secret that the Sergeant was hiding it from Hogan? Klink hadn’t known what to expect as an answer to the question, but now he found himself wondering if he even _wanted_ an answer after all! What sort of horrible thing was the Sergeant going to tell him! Was he prepared to hear it?

Prepared or not, he knew he had no choice. His squeamishness and paranoia aside, he could admit that he had to be examined. Sure, if he’d caught something like gonorrhea from Adler, it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince a doctor to treat him—it would be deeply humiliating to claim that he’d caught it from a prostitute, but deep humiliating shame was hardly something new for him these days. And using the services of a prostitute would hardly hurt his image in the eyes of the like of Burkhalter—they already didn’t think much of him.

However, if he was injured enough to need stitches, he knew that he’d never be able to come up with an innocent reason to give a doctor for needing stitches in the location he’d need them in. Having neither the limberness nor the skill to stitch himself up, whatever injuries he had would be left to fester, untreated. If he was having trouble walking _now_ ... Now that Hogan wasn’t here, bearing down on him, cornering him, Klink had to acknowledge that the Senior POW had been right: his health _did_ matter. He wasn’t going to die today.

As much as his stomach twisted at the thought of what his imagination insisted an examination would entail, he understood that, if for no other reason than his continued mobility, he really had no choice but to be examined.

But Klink refused to put himself through that ordeal, to open himself to that risk, without knowing for certain that the man in front of him actually had the expertise he and Hogan claimed. “I won’t tell Colonel Hogan,” he promised the waiting Wilson, inwardly marveling at the amount of secrets his prisoners were entrusting him to keep from each other.

The medic took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clearly preparing himself to say something fraught with risk. “I have quite a bit of experience treating this kind of injury because I’ve treated homosexuals with this kind of injury.”

As far as Klink knew, homosexuals were about as well-regarded in the American military as they were in the German military: not at all. While it was possible that he was mistaken about that—it wouldn’t be the first time—the Sergeant’s plea for secrecy told him that he wasn’t. If he wasn’t wrong, a homosexual seeking treatment would have the same problems he’d have, wouldn’t they?

And, considering the plea, there must be some risk to the medic as well for offering his services. “Why would you help them?”

The other man’s discomfort was plain. “Do you really need to know that?”

Truly, the question had been merely thinking out loud, but now that he’d been asked this in return, Klink realized that he _did_ need this answer as well. He needed to know what drove this man to help these perverts. He needed to know what he’d expect in return for his help. He needed to know whether it was a price he was willing to pay. “Yes, I do.”

Wilson frowned deeply before he sighed. “I suppose I’m already in trouble—what’s a little more trouble?” He stood up straight and lifted his chin up. “I help them because they come to me for help,” he said evenly. “And they come to _me_ because … because I’m a homosexual, too.” He smiled weakly. “I’d have nothing to gain from turning them in.”

It took Klink a long moment to absorb this statement and decide where it left him. His paranoia, naturally, insisted that it had been vindicated, that Wilson’s admission was proof that it had been right all along: Wilson was not only capable of doing what Adler had done, but _would_ do what Adler had done. After all, the prisoner was an admitted homosexual, wasn’t he? A deviant pervert? Why _wouldn’t_ he want to take what Adler had taken?

But then, his paranoia had said the same thing about the man _before_ the admission, hadn’t it?

He’d been afraid of the Sergeant’s hands before; he was still afraid of them now. So, really, what difference did it make that Wilson actually _was_ a homosexual? Nothing had changed.

Klink didn’t want the medic’s hands on him either way.

“Kommandant?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Klink looked up at the worried Sergeant and attempted to smile. “I-I see.” Assuming that Wilson wasn’t lying (and who _would_ lie about such a thing?), it seemed that the man could do what Hogan had claimed. The medic would be able to help him if he actually had an injury.

And, maybe, there was another way that the medic could help him. Wilson was a homosexual— _he_ knew what he was. Klink suspected that _he_ might be a homosexual but he didn’t know for certain. Perhaps Wilson would be able to help him determine that one way or the other. “May I ask you a, ah, well, a personal question?”

The Sergeant was clearly taken aback, and he nodded slowly, uncertain. “Okay, Kommandant. What do you want to know?”

Now, how to ask? It wasn’t Klink’s habit to ask very personal questions of people he barely knew—it wasn’t Klink’s habit to ask very personal questions in general—but he knew that tact was required and that the right words were needed. “How do you know you’re a homosexual?” he asked at last, finding neither right words nor tact in supply.

Judging by Wilson’s expression, Klink might as well have asked the man how he knew oranges were round. He half shook his head in clear disbelief. “Well, sir,” he began, his tone not quite sarcastic, “I think my biggest clue is that I’m more interested in kissing men than I am in kissing girls.” Then, more seriously, he asked, “Why do you want to know _that_ ?”

Klink noted the incredulousness in the prisoner’s voice and bowed his head. To Wilson, his question had been a stupid one, but knowing that brought Klink no closer to an answer. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what he had to say to make Wilson understand the true nature of his problem. He’d been hoping to keep his own confusion out of this, but saw no other way if he wanted to find out, once and for all, what he was.

With all the uncertainties he’d been forced to deal with lately, it would be nice to at least be certain about himself, even if he didn’t like the answer. He had to know, and he _would_ know. And really, what was one more shame on top of all the others? “I’ve had reason to believe that I might be a,” he swallowed hard, his throat closing up around the word, “homosexual.” He looked up to gauge the reaction to his words.

Surprise. Disbelief.

“I-I never had the slightest idea that I might be,” he hastened to explain, “until,” he had to look away, “until Adler.”

The silence was nothing short of stifling. “What reasons do you have now?” The question was quiet and there was an odd tone to the man’s voice, something sad and sickened.

Whatever it was that he was thinking Klink could not begin to guess. “I—” he broke off, uncertain what to say, if to say. How could he possibly admit to this stranger how low he’d become in so short a time? But then, he and Wilson had no history—Klink had no stake in this prisoner’s opinion of what he’d done. Besides, the Sergeant was a homosexual: the depths of Klink’s particular perversion might disgust him, but Klink doubted it would be all that shocking to him.

And, even without transferring Wilson, it would be fairly easy to never see the man again. He barely saw the man as it was. So, even if the prisoner was disgusted with him, Klink would never have to see it in his eyes.

Even with those assurances, it was still difficult for him to scrape together enough nerve to actually answer the question. He took a breath to settle himself, wishing he hadn’t sworn off drinking: his nerves could have used a soother. He was shaking already. And why not? Once he said this, once he admitted it out loud, he’d never be able to pretend that it had never happened. Even if he never saw this Sergeant again, the words would hang in the air. It would all be real.

Klink recognized that this was a patently foolish thought: what had happened had happened whether he said so or not. Whether he admitted it or not. So, he might as well admit it since that seemed to be the only way to get the answers he need. Still it was hard. His chest felt tight. He felt cold. “When … when Adler touches me, I-I react.”

“React?”

Damn English. Klink hadn’t wanted to get very explicit but it seemed that this comfort would be denied him in the name of expedience. “I get aroused.” Not waiting for the Sergeant to question this, he continued on, not wanting to lose his nerve to. “When Adler, when he’s sodomized me, I,” his eyes ached, and he hated himself for the weakness he would be soon displaying, “I’ve, he’s made me … ejaculate.”

He could feel wetness on his cheeks, and he swiped roughly at his eyes. It was funny, in a not very funny sort of way, to be so embarrassed by this lack of control considering what he’d just confessed to. Surely, after admitting that some part of him enjoyed what that monster put him through, being ashamed of blubbering was petty.

Petty or not, he still felt ashamed, weak. Pathetic. He was shaking. His chest was tight; his lungs felt starved for air; his breath threatened to hitch. He covered his face with his hands, willing himself to breathe as normally as he could, willing himself to ignore the other man’s presence and what he’d just spoken aloud. Silence stretched as Klink gradually calmed, his shame and embarrassment leaving weariness in their wake.

“A physical reaction doesn’t make you homosexual, Kommandant.”

Klink blinked and brought his head up sharply, startled both by the unexpected speech as well as the content of it. “What? What do you mean?”

Wilson was smiling gently. “I mean what I said: a physical reaction doesn’t make you homosexual.” It was clear, from the way he spoke, that he was considering his words carefully. “The body isn’t smart enough to know who is touching it or why—all it knows is it’s being touched. And your genitals can’t tell if you’re terrified or interested most the time.” He actually chuckled. “As for ‘reacting’ to being sodomized, well, sir, homosexual men have the same anatomy as any other man. There’s a reason why some men enjoy that sort of thing, and it really has nothing to do with who you’re interested in.”

“Do you enjoy that then?” Klink did not really want to know about his prisoner’s sexual habits, but he’d been too surprised by what he was hearing to stop himself in time.

The Sergeant looked embarrassed. “Actually, no,” he answered somewhat brusquely, “I don’t. It’s unsanitary on one end and it doesn’t do anything for me on the other.” He shook his head. “But I’m still homosexual—like I said, enjoying sodomy, not enjoying it, it really has nothing to do with who you’re interested in.” He smiled again. “So, you see, a physical reaction means nothing as far as that part of it goes.”

Klink wanted to believe what Wilson was saying—that the reaction of his body had meant nothing, that his body wasn’t a traitor, that he hadn’t actually enjoyed what Adler had put him through—but it was difficult to accept. When the Sergeant had explained his position, it sounded reasonable. However, as soon as Klink tried to apply the words to his own body, his own situation, the words rang hollow. A dark whisper in his skull countered with Adler’s voice: _‘The body doesn’t lie, Wilhelm.’_

And it made sense.

“Look Kommandant,” Wilson said, his hands splayed open entreatingly, “I don’t know you well enough to really know if you’re homosexual or not. But believe me when I say this: If you had no reason to think you were homosexual before General Adler raped you, you still have no reason to think so now.”

And he was using that word again. Klink didn’t feel up to arguing that point with the Sergeant, so he didn’t. Still, noting that the medic was waiting for him to say something, he took a deep breath and spoke. “It … It is difficult for me to accept that.”

Wilson sighed in defeat. “Just think about it, sir.” Then he offered a wry smile. “After all, I _should_ know what I’m talking about.”

Klink could just manage to dredge up a smile for that. “I’ll try, Sergeant.”

“Good.” Now, all business once more, the medic asked, “Will you allow me to examine you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? He could feel the sweat beading up on his brow. It was one thing to understand that he needed to have this done; it was another entirely to convince his frantically beating heart that he had nothing to fear from this man’s examination when he didn’t truly believe it himself. His rational mind could make all the arguments it wanted, but they were not powerful enough to quell his rising panic. “I-I don’t think I _can_ let you,” he said honestly. “I won’t be able to keep still for it.” Before Wilson could make the same suggestion Hogan had, he hastened to add. “I will _not_ allow you to drug me!”

Wilson’s expression was mild. “I gathered that the last time you said it, sir.” He frowned in thought. “Are you certain you won’t be able to be still? The examination shouldn’t take very long. There’s no reason for you to worry.”

The reassurances were less than reassuring. In this case, the man clearly had no idea what he was talking about. “I can’t.”

There was definite annoyance on the other man’s face now. “You can’t say that until we try, sir.” He considered Klink for a moment. “Let’s _try_ an examination—if it turns out that you’re right, I’ll think of something else.”

‘Something else’ simultaneously sounded like a great idea and fairly ominous. Klink pulled his bathrobe up over his shoulders, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the air. Did he really have a choice? He knew he needed to be examined. And, since he refused to allow the medic to sedate him … what other way was there? He would simply have to push his paranoia aside and act like a man, for once.

And he didn’t want the increasingly impatient medic to take that choice away from him.

“All right,” Klink said, his mouth dry. “We-we can try it.”

This answer elicited a pleasant smile from the Sergeant. “Okay then.” He walked to the head of the bed, took the pillows, and made a small pile in the middle of the bed. “Lay down on your stomach over these. This shouldn’t take too long.”

The smile looked hungry. Klink closed his eyes and told himself that he was wrong. Opening them again, he saw Wilson looking down at him expectantly. He stood, unsteadily, and forced himself to turn his back on the prisoner, sweat collecting in his tightly clenched fists. He lay down on the bed, his stomach being pushed up by the pillows, knowing already that he was making a mistake. Already, his breathing was far too shallow, and he felt tense enough to shatter at the slightest touch.

His heart jumped into his throat as the bottom of his robe was pulled up past his legs to be pooled at the small of his back. He wanted to tell the medic that he had changed his mind, that he couldn’t do this, but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t move. He could only tremble impotently as warm hands came to rest on his thighs.

“This will go a lot easier for you if you relax, sir.”

Desperately, Klink reminded himself that the man speaking was a medic who was trying to do an examination and not a prisoner who wanted him to relax for the same reason Adler had. This man didn’t want to sodomize him. This man didn’t want to hurt him.

“Easy does it.”

The hands moved up to Klink’s backside, and Klink felt fingers where fingers did not belong. Probing. Prodding. The terror that had kept him still, had kept him silent, became one with his panic, and he screamed. He twisted, kicking as he rolled off his stomach—

—to hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He could see a shadow bearing down on him, and he screamed again. Before he could manage to get into a position to scramble away, a hand covered his mouth and a weight on his hips pinned him to the floor. A leering face filled his vision as it called his name, its breath warm against his ear. Klink shuddered with revulsion and redoubled his efforts to get free, to cry out.

Weight, the other man’s body, pressed down on his chest as well, his shoulders. So many worms on his skin. Another hand grabbed hold of his arm, and Klink felt a sharp, burning pain there that turned his stomach even though he couldn’t think of why. He closed his eyes, shutting out the face, shutting out the pain everywhere, shutting out the voice that was speaking gibberish at him. He had to escape. He had to.

But, by degrees, he felt a warmth flowing through him as his panic bled away. There was still a little pain, but it was unimportant. The man who was practically lying on top of him made it difficult to breathe (as did the hand covering his mouth), but these things didn’t worry him so much anymore. In fact, he wasn’t so certain now why he had panicked in the first place. He stopped his feeble struggles and opened his eyes.

Hogan’s face was close but he was looking up and away. “What the hell did you give him?”

“Morphine,” another voice, Sergeant Wilson, answered. “It looks like it’s taking affect. It’s probably safe to let go of him now.”

Now, Hogan looked down to meet Klink’s eyes. “Are you going to start screaming again if I let you up?”

Klink tried to say ‘no’ but found Hogan’s hand over his mouth an obstacle to that end. He considered the problem a moment longer before realizing he could shake his head. He shook his head.

“All right.” The hand and the weight came off his body. “Are you all right, Klink?”

Although his thoughts were moving through cold molasses, it didn’t take Klink very long to gather the clues together and realize what had happened. “You drugged me,” he accused, unable to put the amount of anger he thought he should feel into his voice. His voice sounded creaky. Dry.

“I did,” Wilson confirmed, his face coming into view as the medic came to kneel by Hogan. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself more, and I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to have Corporal Langenscheidt come in to find out what all the noise was.” His expression changed into something ashamed. “I should have listened to you when you said you wouldn’t be able to do this. I, I apologize, Kommandant.”

Klink waved the apology away. He’d said that he was willing to try it—it wasn’t the medic’s fault that Klink hadn’t been able to tell him what a horrible, horrible mistake _that_ had been! “Forget it, Sergeant,” he said, smiling without trying to. His throat didn’t hurt but it was dry. He was so thirsty. “Can I have some water, please.”

Once the Sergeant had nodded and left Klink’s line of sight, Klink turned to look at Hogan who seemed to be extremely interested in the ceiling. He followed the American’s gaze, but saw nothing worth the scrutiny. Shaking his head, he refocused his attention at the problem at hand. Taking stock of himself, as best as he could, he decided that he would not be able to get off the floor without a helping hand. Luckily enough, there happened to be two hands here to help. “Hogan?”

There was no mistaking the slight flush on his cheeks as Hogan lowered his gaze to look him in the face. “What is it?”

“Help me up.”

A nod. “Of course, sir.” He got off his knees and wrapped an arm awkwardly, stiffly, around Klink back, putting Klink’s arm around his neck. “Ready?” Before Klink could say one way or the other, he was upright but leaning heavily on Hogan. “Can you stand on your own?”

There was something strange in the American’s voice. A kind of strain. And, when Klink turned his head to look, he saw that Hogan was averting his eyes. From him. Frowning, Klink stared down at himself. He felt his face go hotter as he realized what the problem was. Sometime during his struggles, his robe had come undone, leaving him almost completely exposed. The arm not currently around Hogan moved sluggishly as he tried to rectify the situation.

“Klink? What are you doing?”

It was very frustrating. Every time he got the robe closed, it would open as soon as he reached for the belt. He seemed to be moving very slowly. Too slowly for the wily garment.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hogan said, and Klink found himself being led to the bed. Hogan disentangled himself from Klink with a speed that Klink wished he could find before closing Klink’s robe. The American tied the robe’s belt perhaps too tightly, an equally tight look on his face.

Klink didn’t think he’d _ever_ seen Hogan be so embarrassed. It was actually fairly funny. Klink was a bit embarrassed, of course, but he didn’t feel half as embarrassed as Hogan looked. Actually, considering the fact that it had been _Klink_ and not _Hogan_ who had been displaying his crown jewels for the world to see, Hogan’s discomfort was … hilarious! Before he could stop himself, he tittered.

The Senior POW’s face was still flushed as he took a step back. “Is something funny, sir?”

Shaking his head, Klink clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the guffaws. Seeing Hogan’s darkening face, he made an extra effort to calm himself. Not because he feared what Hogan’s reaction would be, but because he didn’t want to upset him. While he did manage to stop laughing, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why are _you_ blushing?”

The dark look remained on Hogan’s face for a moment longer before he sighed, sliding a hand over his eyes. “I’ve got high blood pressure.” After a moment, his hand slipped away and his lips turned up slightly. “It is nice to see you enjoying yourself again, even if it’s at my expense.”

Sadness filtered in and filtered out. “It’s not going to last,” Klink said, still smiling. It was a shame, he decided, that being connected to a continuous drip of morphine was both very dangerous and horrifically impractical. It was nice to be able to sit here in nothing but his bathrobe with Hogan standing next to him and not feel even a little bit nervous. He supposed it was a good thing that the medic was a kleptomaniac and would be taking that bottle with him when he left.

Hogan nodded. “I know.” He seemed to be about to say something more when Sergeant Wilson returned with a glass of water.

“It took me a while to find the kitchen” he explained as he handed the glass over.

Klink took it gratefully. “Thank you.” He took a long swallow and immediately wanted more. “Why am I so thirsty?” he asked no one in particular. He took another sip.

“Thirst is a common side effect of the sulfa I gave you last night,” Wilson illuminated. “That’s why I told you to drink plenty of water.” He frowned thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t need any more of it as long as there’s no infection.”

“Now that we have that cleared up,” Hogan interrupted impatiently, “would you mind telling me just what happened here?”

Wilson’s distress and remorse were obvious. “The Kommandant agreed to let me examine him—he told me that he didn’t think he’d be able to be still for it.” He half laughed in a way that spoke of just how unfunny he thought this was. “I thought he meant that he’d be moving around a bit, so I told him we could just _try_ it. I didn’t expect him to have a panic attack, sir!”

“He agreed to let you examine him.” It wasn’t a question—it was an incredulous statement.

“Yes, sir,” came the prompt reply. “Once I explained the consequences of leaving this kind of injury untreated, he agreed to let me look.”

Hogan was frowning when he turned to look at Klink. “Is this true?”

Klink nodded, surprised that Hogan would be willing to take _his_ word over that of one of his men. The details were wrong, of course, but he supposed that if the Sergeant had told Hogan the truth, it would have defeated the purpose of having Klink keep it a secret. “You were right,” he admitted. “But I panicked, as you saw.”

“That I did,” Hogan agreed, his face reddening slightly again. “How are you feeling now, sir?”

This almost set off another round of titters but Klink managed to hold it in. It was a fairly stupid question. “I feel like I’ve been drugged!” He looked down at his knees and considered a far more important question. “How long will I be like this?”

“Around four hours,” Wilson apologized. “Maybe three.”

That was far too long. Klink knew that he should be upset, but he found it difficult to hold on to that feeling. Even the terror that accompanied the next important question was a faint, fleeting thing. “Where is Adler?”

“He left.”

The oddly curt tone in Hogan’s voice made Klink look up. While the sick fear in his stomach faded fast, the concern remained. “Did he do something to you?”

Startled. Then a laugh. “Not exactly.” Hogan smiled thinly. “Let’s just say that he isn’t a gentleman and leave it at that.”

Not a gentleman? Before Klink could spend any time sorting out what _that_ could mean, Hogan asked a question that demanded his attention.

“Would you be willing to let Wilson try examining you now?”

Since he’d agreed to that _before_ he’d been doused with morphine, it seemed a little silly not to agree now. It would be a lie to say that he was exactly _comfortable_ with the idea, but there still wasn’t a choice and, at least now, he’d be able to let the medic do his work. He nodded.

Klink had needed some help to get back into the position the Sergeant had originally had him in—his coordination was completely off—but he felt only embarrassment as Wilson pushed up his bathrobe. There was no panic like there had been before. Still, he wished he had some distraction as the medic started touching him. Even in this state where panic couldn’t take hold, this was hardly comfortable. “Hogan.”

The medic stopped what he was doing, and Klink saw the shadow of something standing over him.

“Yes, Kommandant?” Hogan’s voice sounded very close. “Are you all right for this examination? Sergeant Wilson can stop.”

It was a tempting offer. “No, no, he doesn’t have to stop.” He took a moment to piece his thoughts into something coherent. “But this is … uncomfortable. I need something to distract me.” After giving the matter another moment’s thought, he decided he’d rather have the distraction be something that didn’t require his participation. His thinking was muddled but he could still think, albeit slowly. However getting his thoughts into words was becoming something of a chore. “There’s a book on my bureau. Could you read it to me?”

A chuckle. “Sure, sir. One distraction coming right up!”

It hadn’t taken the Senior POW long to find the book. As Hogan started reading the text in quite possibly the worst German accent that Klink had ever heard, Klink did his best to focus on that rather than what the medic was up to. He couldn’t help thinking, as the American stammered and stumbled over the words, that Colonel Hoople’s accent had been excellent. Not perfect, but close enough to it to pass. And very fluent. If he didn’t know better, listening to Hogan now, he would have thought that the American didn’t know German at all.

He wondered if it was difficult to speak so poorly in a language one was fluent in. Perhaps he’d try it later. For now, he was content to lie there and wonder why Hogan was butchering his language. Surely, his Sergeant must know that his Colonel could speak German! Unless Hogan didn’t want Sergeant Wilson to realize that Klink knew that Hogan could speak German. Or maybe he only wanted Wilson to think that Hogan thought that Klink didn’t know that Hogan could speak German. Or maybe it was that he wanted Wilson to think that Hogan wanted Klink to think that he wanted Wilson to think that Klink thought that Hogan couldn’t speak German.

Klink frowned as he tried to retrace the last chain he’d come up with. He eventually gave up. He supposed he could ask Hogan later for the reason he was hiding his talent. Whether or not the American would tell him … that was another matter entirely. Ah, but where would be the fun if Hogan just _told_ him anything?

Hogan had always been a puzzle to Klink. A puzzle Klink had known he’d never be able to solve. Still, it had been entertaining, in a frustrating sort of way, to collect the pieces and see if he could fit them together. And, while recent events had given Klink access to pieces he hadn’t known existed, he was certain that he still didn’t have enough pieces to form a clear picture. In fact, the new pieces had made him realize that some of the old pieces belonged to a completely different puzzle!

Sadness couldn’t take hold with much more success than panic, but Klink did feel a little disappointed by the realization that, after he’d told the American what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to collect any more pieces. He didn’t know what it would be like after he told Hogan how he’d been used, but he was fairly certain that Hogan would no longer be willing to play the game with him any longer. Not that Klink could blame him, of course.

For the moment though, there was no point in thinking about that. So, he let himself sink into the sea of bastardized German, away from the medic’s fingers and away from his thoughts.


	56. Final Exam II

Once Klink started snoring, Hogan closed the book. “When I woke up this morning,” he remarked quietly to Wilson, “I didn’t plan on reading the Kommandant a bedtime story.”

“When I woke up this morning,” Wilson returned mildly, “I didn’t plan on giving the Kommandant stitches in his rear—time makes fools of us all, sir.”

Hogan kept his gaze on the book in his hands. He’d seen more than enough of Klink’s personal anatomy today. Even though it turned out that the man himself didn’t seem to care about being exposed, _Hogan_ did—he certainly had never expected the Kommandant to be an exhibitionist! “How’s it looking, Wilson?”

“With all the bruising on his hips, I was expecting this to look a lot worse than it did.” Hogan imagined a shrug but didn’t turn to see if Wilson gave one. “I had to drain some pus, and some of the tears he has are starting to get infected, but it’s nothing a little sewing and sulfa won’t cure. He should definitely notice some improvement once I’m done.”

‘Some improvement’ wasn’t the most promising or detailed phrase in Hogan’s opinion. If something more than emergency medicine would be required, he needed to know now. “Is he going to completely recover?”

“I don’t see why not,” Wilson said after a moment. “As long as he takes it easy for a while, gives himself some time to heal.” His next words were dark. “Although, I suppose that _that_ isn’t really a choice he gets to make with this General around.”

Hogan smiled even though Wilson was not in a position to see it. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Then, more quietly, he confided, “General Adler is going to be taking an extended vacation to London.”

“Really, sir?” Wilson sounded somewhat distracted. “I hope he’s going cargo class.”

“Naturally,” Hogan assured him, “we’ll spare every expense on the crate we stick him in.” He opened the book again, aimlessly flipping through pages, so he had something to do with his hands, so he had some reason not to be looking in Wilson’s direction. “We’re trying to keep everything about General Adler on a need to know basis—for obvious reasons. As far as anyone not in the know is concerned, we’re sending Adler along to London because he has useful intelligence to be extracted.”

“Understood, sir,” came the easy reply. Then, more hesitantly: “Does London know what’s been happening here?”

Hogan debated whether or not to be honest and decided there was no reason not to be. “No.” He felt his mouth twist into a sardonic smile. “I have a feeling London might have some words for us about giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”

Silence. “I see what you mean.” A slightly longer silence punctuated by the sounds of Wilson working and Klink snoring. “Why _are_ we giving aid and comfort to the enemy?” the medic asked at last, making an obvious effort to sound casual.

Why the effort? It wasn’t as though the question was a strange one or one not within the Sergeant’s right to ask. In any event, there was no debate this time about whether or not to be honest. “Klink’s much more useful to us in one piece and, considering the cause of his injuries, having him get his own help is a bit problematic.”

“Understandable.”

Since he wasn’t able to see the man’s expression, Hogan couldn’t be certain, but he thought that Wilson sounded almost ... disappointed? “I’m not interested in arguing with London about it, and I figure what they don’t know won’t hurt me.”

“And if London catches wise?” Wilson asked, his conversational tone holding no trace of the disappointment that Hogan had thought he’d heard before.

_Then I’ll tell London that they should have given me all the information on General Adler—not just what they felt like sharing. I’ll tell them exactly what I think of them putting my men in danger just so they don’t have to talk about something that embarrasses them. And then I’ll see if they’re still feeling high and mighty enough to get after me for what I’ve done._

Hogan forced himself to chuckle. “Well, Wilson, you know what they say: sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”

This got a chuckle in return. “I hope they’re in a forgiving mood then, sir.”

“For me? Always—London loves me,” Hogan mock boasted. Honestly, he wasn’t concerned about London finding out that he’d given Klink medical care. They understood that the Kommandant was a very important part of the success of the operation beneath Stalag 13. Doubtless, they wouldn’t be _happy_ about his aiding one of the enemy, but London was seldom _completely_ happy about anything he did.

Of course, giving Klink access to his medic was one thing; giving the Kommandant access to the tunnel system was another thing entirely. London would never understand what had possessed Hogan to undermine the integrity of his own operation expressly _to save the life of one of the enemy_. They’d probably slap him with a Section 8 in absentina and send another Colonel here to take his place—because, obviously, Hogan would _have_ to be crazy to share such a vital secret with the camp Kommandant.

Needless to say, Hogan had no intention of ever informing London about what he’d done.

London would not be the only people to think what he’d done was crazy though. None of his men would take it well; even Kinch, who understood this Klink situation the best, wouldn’t approve of just how honest he’d been. Unfortunately, there was little choice about informing at least his inner circle—both because he couldn’t, in good conscience, keep the fact that he’d took such a risk with their lives secret forever, and because he knew a secret like this _couldn’t_ be kept forever.

Whatever Hogan did, they would find out about what he’d told Klink sooner or later. The situation would be much simpler to salvage if they heard it from him rather than finding it out on their own. It would have to be handled delicately, but this sort of delicacy was more his speed than the sort he’d failed to apply the last few days. While he wasn’t looking forward to it in any way, he wasn’t too worried.

As he’d told Klink, he was certain that his men would forgive him for his candor.

Eventually.

“All finished!” Wilson declared.

Hogan turned before he remembered why he hadn’t been facing that direction in the first place. As it was too late to turn away now without looking incredibly foolish, he kept his eyes focused on Wilson.

The medic peeled off his gloves. “I’ll want to take another look at him in a week or so, to see how the stitches are holding, but I’ve done all I can do for now.”

Klink would just be thrilled with _that_ bit of news. On the other hand, even if it hadn’t turned out well, Wilson _had_ gotten Klink to agree to an examination in the first place. He wished he’d been here to see how exactly that little miracle had been performed. “Do you want me to wake him up?”

Wilson pulled Klink’s robe back down over his hips. “Please. I’ll like to talk to him about how to care for his injuries before we leave.”

There were one or two things Hogan wanted to discuss with the man as well. He set the book down on the bedside table before leaning down near Klink’s ear. “Kommandant, wake up.” When this got no response, he tried again, a little louder.

This time Klink opened his eyes to stare up blearily. “Hogan? Was ist los?”

Hogan smiled. “Sergeant Wilson is finished.”

Blinking, Klink came more awake. “Finished?” He tried to push himself off the pillows and failed, landing face first onto the mattress.

“Let me help you up,” Hogan offered as he took hold of the Kommandant’s arm.

Clearly, the morphine was still taking affect for the German didn’t so much as flinch at the touch. Nor did he immediately pull away as soon as he was upright. “Is it done then?” Klink asked once Hogan let go of him.

“Yes, Kommandant,” Wilson said brightly. He went on to explain what he’d done, what Klink needed to do to help the healing along, and to tell Klink that it would be necessary to be examined again in a week’s time to see how his injuries were healing.

Even drugged, Klink looked uneasy at the prospect, but he offered no argument to the verdict. “If you think it’s necessary.”

“I do, sir.” Wilson’s serious expression softened. “How do you feel?”

Klink smiled somewhat sardonically. “You injected me with morphine—I feel wonderful.”

This earned a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better than you did once it wears off, too. Just try not to do anything to strenuous.” Wilson looked to Hogan. “I’m all finished here, Colonel.”

Hogan acknowledged the words with a nod and glanced at the door to the living room. While he wanted to have some words alone with the Kommandant, the safety of his man took precedence. “Is there anyone out there?”

With a slightly puzzled expression, Wilson went to the door and cracked it open. “No.”

Adler must still be busy with his telephone call. “Wait for me out in the living room. I’ll join you shortly. If the General shows up, I want you to come back in here. Understood?”

Slightly worried now, Wilson nodded. “All right, sir.” He inclined his head to Klink with a “Kommandant” before making his exit. The door shut softly behind him.

When Hogan returned his attention to the Kommandant, Klink was frowning with suspicion. “What did you mean before? When you said General Adler wasn’t a gentleman?”

Hogan shrugged with his most convincing nonchalance. “He’s a poor conversationalist,” he evaded, deciding that Klink didn’t need to hear all the details and that he, Hogan, didn’t want to admit that he’d let Adler catch him off guard. “The most boring man I’ve ever met—never let me get in a word edgewise.”

“I see.” It was difficult to tell if Klink believed him. The suspicion was gone, true, but the dumb looking smile that had taken its place was impossible to read. “He’s not a pleasant man.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Was there any trouble getting Adler to take the bait for tonight?”

Klink stared up at him. “No,” he said slowly in a way that indicated that there had been some trouble and he didn’t want to say what it had been. “And I’m glad,” he continued quickly, “that I could give him the, ah, bait—he wanted to break my fingers next.” His sudden, wide grin was entirely inappropriate considering the words. “He said I didn’t need them to be useful to him.”

Hogan swallowed down his disgust. Adler was some nasty piece of work—one who deserved worse than a cargo class flight to a London Prisoner of War camp. Fortunately for Adler, the folks Hogan had to answer to wanted him alive, and Hogan was too professional to engineer an accidental death to befall him anyway.

No matter how tempting it was.

“Where did you learn to read German so poorly?” Klink asked, baffled.

Surprised by the sudden topic change, it took Hogan a moment to summon up a smirk. “Natural talent,” he said, buffing his fingernails on his jacket. Then he let the smirk go. Klink was changing the subject—was that because he didn’t want to talk about the problems he’d had with Adler this afternoon or because he was high as a kite.

“Your accent was _terrible_ ,” Klink went on, almost accusingly. “I _know_ you can speak better than _that_.”

Hogan raised his hands in mock surrender, allowing himself to enjoy the banter. “You got me, sir. It was an act.” He leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “No need for Sergeant Wilson to know you know what you know, you know?”

As expected, Klink frowned in bemusement, clearly trying to sort out what exactly Hogan had said to him. Finally, his expression brightened as the realization came. “Ah! I know.” A pause. A frown. “I think.” He yawned and looked surprised that he had done so.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to Hogan—the man looked like hell even with the morphine in his system. It was tempting to take advantage of his current state and ask him about what Adler had said. To ask him what exactly that conversation he’d had with Adler about the prisoners had entailed.

But, seeing Klink’s eyes swiftly taking on a dull, glassy look, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He could get all of his answers later, after all. He just had to be patient. “Why don’t you get some rest, sir? It’s going to be a long night for you.”

Klink’s smile was drowsy. “And I suppose you have more important things to do besides keep me company.”

“There _are_ a few last minute details I need to see to,” Hogan admitted. Then he used his reasonable tone to add, “Besides, it doesn’t look like you’re up to keeping _me_ company much longer anyway.”

Another yawn from the Kommandant. “You are probably right.” He moved the pillows from the middle of the bed to the head a slow, deliberate manner. Once that was finished, he lay down and stared up at Hogan through half-shut eyes. “Tell Langenscheidt that I, I don’t want to see anyone except Sergeant Schultz or General Adler.”

“Why General Adler?”

Klink closed his eyes, his face placid. “There’s no reason to make him, to make him angry with me again quite so soon.”

No argument there. “I’ll tell him. Sleep well, Kommandant.”

Klink mumbled something but seemed just about unconscious already.

Hogan considered the scene for a moment before covering Klink with the blanket that had fallen on the floor. Now satisfied, he turned his back on the sleeping man and headed out into the living room.

Wilson was standing near the couch, his gaze on the office door. His posture was tense, and Hogan wondered if that was due to his order about Adler or if the medic had some other reason to be tense.

“Something wrong, Wilson?”

The Sergeant started and turned to face him. His smile was embarrassed; his eyes were troubled. “No, no. Just...” He sighed, dropping the smile. “I think I made things worse in there. That episode he had, that was my fault. I should have listened to him when he said he wouldn’t be able to handle an examination.”

There seemed to be an epidemic of not listening to Klink lately; that was for sure. Hogan clapped his hand on the medic’s shoulder. “Don’t kick yourself too hard: you’re not the first to make him panic like that.” Hell, if he had a penny for every time _he’d_ managed to make the Kommandant turn into a gibbering mess, well, he’d have enough for a cup of coffee anyway. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have some coffee about now!

Wilson’s troubled eyes remained so. “That’s not exactly comforting news, sir.” He brought his fist up to his mouth and seemed to be weighing something. “I’m no psychologist, but I think the Kommandant might be suffering from a gross stress reaction from what he’s been through.”

Hogan was not always on top of his medical jargon, but this phrase he recognized. At first blush, it seemed ridiculous. At second, it still did—they were hardly on the front lines here! “You think Klink has _battle fatigue_?”

It was clear that Wilson did not appreciate the derision in Hogan’s tone. “Well, what’s your explanation for what happened in there?” He shook his head. “I expected him to be uncomfortable with the examination—I’m sure after being raped the last thing he wants is some man poking around back there—but that complete loss of control? That’s not normal. And the fact that you’ve said it’s happened before, well, that doesn’t sound like a good sign to me.”

There was no arguing with that. Although Hogan had difficulty understanding _why_ Klink had become so terrified of _all_ men, he couldn’t deny that that fear existed. And he couldn’t deny Wilson’s point about such an extreme reaction being worrying. But battle fatigue? Was Klink actually shell-shocked? It still seemed like an odd thought, but, like the medic, he was no psychologist. And finding an actual psychologist to make that call was problematic _at best_.

Considering what the general reaction to Klink’s plight had been, the risk of telling the wrong person about Adler and Klink wasn’t one that Hogan was anxious to take. Besides that, Klink was already an object of ridicule to his London superiors due to the part he played in Hogan’s operation; Hogan didn’t want him to be ridiculed there for _this_ too.

He didn’t deserve that. “We can’t exactly send for a shrink, Wilson,” Hogan said at last.

“I know,” Wilson sighed, deflating somewhat. “But this isn’t the sort of thing that just goes away, and,” he half smiled, “ _I’m_ not qualified for _that_ kind of work.”

And Hogan knew that _he_ was even less qualified than Wilson. He also knew that this role would fall to him anyway. The idea of just listening to what Klink had to say about this situation had been uncomfortable enough for Hogan—the idea of having to play psychologist as well...

He could admit to himself that the idea stopped him cold. He was generally good at rolling with the punches, but he knew his limits: the things he was good at, he was very good at; the things he wasn’t good at...

But now wasn’t the time to fret about the future—they had the present to get through. Besides, it was always possible the medic was wrong. “One disaster at a time, Wilson,” Hogan admonished lightly. “Let’s focus on getting him up and running again first. You said he’d completely recover, right?”

“I see no reason why he shouldn’t physically recover,” Wilson corrected. “As for anything else, it’s really too soon to say.” He frowned. “I hope he’ll willingly take a sedative next time I examine him. I’d rather not have a repeat of this morning, if it’s all the same.”

Hogan realized he still had hold of Wilson’s shoulder, and he let the hand fall away. “At least the Kommandant doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge about it.”

This got a half chuckle. “We’ll see if that’s still true once the morphine wears off.” Despite the words, Wilson’s good humor seemed to have returned to him.

When they walked through Klink’s office, Adler was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, whatever business Berlin had had with Adler had been concluded. Hogan would have to ask Baker what that business had been. With his luck lately, it probably would turn out that Adler had to go back to Berlin _tonight_!

They found Langenscheidt in Hilda’s office, standing next to the Fraulein’s desk. He looked apprehensive: worry mixed with fear and a hint of guilt. As soon as he noticed their arrival, he practically sagged with relief. Then he snapped to attention. “Colonel Hogan,” he said, saluting.

Although it didn’t happen often, it was always amusing to Hogan when he got salutes from the guards. Still, taking into account the young man’s obvious concern, he decided to go easy on him. He acknowledged the salute with a nod and just a little cheek. “Langenscheidt. Worried about us?”

The Corporal lowered his hand, embarrassed. “I was.” He frowned anxiously. “Have you seen the Kommandant? I have not seen him since this morning, and General Adler ordered me not to go into his quarters.”

“I have,” Hogan answered in such a way as to suggest that this had been a silly question. He wondered what reason Langenscheidt had to be so concerned over his commander’s whereabouts but figured asking would only serve to fan the flames of that concern. “He’s sleeping now, but he told me to tell you that the only people he wants to disturb him are Sergeant Schultz and Adler.”

The news did little to reassure Langenscheidt. “Sleeping? Has he taken ill?”

Sure. Why not? “Something like that,” Hogan said with an unconcerned shrug. “It doesn’t seem to be anything serious—just a cold. Of course, the General overreacted and now I’ll have to deal with _him_ ,” he gestured to Wilson, who was clearly surprised to be included in this conversation, “being in a mood all day because this trip took him away from his reading.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to wake up in the morning, does it?”

The guard looked perplexed but no longer concerned. “I suppose not, Colonel Hogan.”

That was better. Mission accomplished, Hogan turned from Langenscheidt. “We’ll just show ourselves out.” Word going to deed, Hogan and Wilson soon were out in the open air. As the open air was fairly cold, Hogan was just as happy to make the short trip back to Barracks 2 in silence. There wasn’t much to talk about now in any case. Nothing that couldn’t wait.

Arriving at the barracks, he had only just shut the outside door behind him when he was hailed by an exuberant voice.

“Am I glad to see you, boy—I mean, Colonel!”

Hogan whirled around to see a very tired looking Sergeant Carter. “What’s going on?”

Carter considered it. “Can we speak in your office, sir?”

The request told Hogan that this was probably related in some way to the Klink problem. Scanning the room, he saw Johnson and Foster on their bunks, shooting glares at each other. Must have been a doozy of a card game this time! They’d sort it out soon enough; he’d seen this scene play out often enough to know that.

The inconsequential thoughts passed through Hogan’s mind within moments. “Of course.”

Once they were safely in Hogan’s office, away from prying ears and eyes, Carter explained himself quickly. “Peter’s been down in the fitting room all night. I think he plans on staying down there all day too!” He yawned into his hand. “I don’t understand it. He _finished_ everything for the mission last night.”

Frowning, Hogan asked why _Carter_ looked so peaked.

Carter smiled tiredly. “He had _me_ going all night too, sir.” He yawned again. “Kinch is down there helping him now.”

Hogan returned the smile. “I’ll see to Newkirk. You go get some rest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Returning to the barracks’ main room, Hogan saw that Wilson had retaken his position on his bunk, flipping through smudged pages until he found the one he wanted. He glanced up once before hurriedly returning his gaze downward. The set of his shoulders was tight. He seemed to be waiting for Hogan to come over and say something.

Unfortunately, eventually, he would have to. Later, once this Klink mess had been sorted out, he would have to talk to the medic about what Kinch suspected. As much as he’d rather not concern himself with the issue at all, he did need to know what Wilson was up to.

But that would wait until later. Maybe much later. Right now, there was Newkirk to corral. In some ways, it was already too late. However, Hogan couldn’t just let the Englishman go on this mission without at least trying to offer him a way out of it.

As he started down into the tunnels, he wished that he could believe that that would be all it would take to make Newkirk stand down.

* * *

As soon as Wilson heard the sound of the entrance to the tunnel closing, he found himself able to relax. No doubt the Colonel would be asking the difficult questions soon enough but, for the moment, he had dodged the bullet—a bullet that hadn’t been fired yet, of course.

He turned his attention to the text, determined to take his mind off of this fact, off of last night, off of this afternoon. Sure, the book was poorly written, trite, and containing a romance what was laughable in its awkward and pale imitation of reality, but it was a _book_. Books were fairly rare at Stalag 13—at least, books that were in English and not some sort of German propaganda were fairly rare. It was one of the things that Wilson hated about prison life: the lack of reading material. So, he was determined to enjoy it.

Except that he found it pretty much impossible to focus on the words with the turmoil in his mind. The business with the Kommandant was, frankly, disturbing, and not the sort of thing he appreciated being thrown into without warning. Although, he supposed, what could the Colonel have said to make the situation more palatable? There wasn’t anything palatable about rape.

Last night, he’d feared a trap from Schultz—the Germans weren’t supposed to be much different than the Americans when it came to homosexuals in their ranks—and had been surprised that the guard had seemed genuinely concerned about the Kommandant’s welfare after he’d said that the man was homosexual.

And now, Wilson still feared a trap, but from a different source. Despite the fact that Colonel Hogan had asked him to examine the Kommandant and had been there _for_ that examination, he was still uncertain as to where his commander stood on the issue of homosexuals.

It wasn’t _so_ strange to think that the Colonel might be sympathetic to homosexuals, considering how the man treated Sergeant Kinchole and Sergeant Baker. In the last camp Wilson had been in, Negro servicemen were segregated—with the approval and direction of the Senior POW. Even inside _their own country_ Negros were segregated. Colonel Hogan, far from demanding segregation of any kind, not only didn’t seem to care one way or the other about the race of the men in his barracks, he also had a Negro practically as his second in command!

If he could treat _those_ men like men, maybe he’d be willing to do the same for—

It was a big maybe. Too big a maybe to risk without just cause. This new situation with the Kommandant didn’t change Wilson’s opinion on that point. Klink probably wasn’t a homosexual at all: even if the man himself seemed confused about that, Wilson was fairly certain that Klink wasn’t. As to whether Hogan thought Klink was, well, that was impossible to be sure about.

But, even if Klink _was_ a homosexual and Hogan realized it, as the Colonel had said, the Kommandant was useful. Maybe his usefulness outweighed whatever objections the Colonel had to his homosexuality. Perhaps even the same could be said for himself—he _was_ the only medic the prisoners had right now. So, perhaps, he personally would be safe from whatever reprisals the Colonel had in mind. But the same couldn’t be said for those he helped.

This current situation with the Kommandant did not exactly bolster the premise that his commander would be sympathetic, and Wilson wasn’t going to offer the metaphorical firing squad ammunition freely. Perhaps, if he didn’t call attention to himself after he was done treating Klink, Hogan wouldn’t ask for more detail on how exactly he knew what he knew and what he did with that knowledge on his own time.

It was a fool’s hope—he wasn’t nearly deluded enough to believe otherwise—, but it was the only hope he had. For now, it was wiser, safer, to remain quiet, hidden, and hopeful.


	57. In the Interlude

“Sleep well, Kommandant.”

Klink said “Thank you,” or, at least, he thought he’d said it. He wasn’t sure. He was adrift in an inviting darkness that became warmer as something was pulled over his shoulders. Then there was nothing.

And then there was something. Something in his mouth. Something covering his mouth. Kissed. He was being kissed. This fact did not worry him, exactly. It just seemed odd. Unexpected. And he felt a bit too cool; the comforting weight and warmth of before missing.

Hands slid down his chest, to his waist. After a few moments, he felt his robe being opened. This also did not worry him as such, but he found himself wondering what exactly was going on. He’d been much more comfortable before his skin had been exposed, for one thing. With an effort, he opened his eyes.

The shadow looming over him broke the kiss, and white teeth flashed in the hidden face. “Are you awake now, Wilhelm?”

That voice. It sounded so familiar, familiar in a way that briefly twisted his stomach. He knew that voice and being kissed by Adler was not his preferred way of waking up! “What?” Klink was surprised that he’d managed to get out that one word. His brain was afloat in a sea of molasses and his limbs felt heavy and useless as he tried to push himself up.

A hand pressing gently down on his chest stopped and reversed his meager progress. “I brought your medicine,” Adler explained, sounding breathy, “but when I saw you here like this, I couldn’t resist.” Lips touched his throat. “Such a tease. If I had time, I’d take you now.”

Even though his terror at the pronouncement faded quickly, Klink still didn’t want Adler to sodomize him again. That probably wouldn’t be good for Wilson’s stitches! He struggled to get his mind working, to get his mouth working. “You, you said you—”

A light kiss on his mouth cut off his protest. “Don’t worry,” Adler chuckled. “I don’t have time for _that_ , but I _do_ have enough time for a little fun.” Small kisses down his throat. Down his chest. Lower.

Something like panic tried to take hold and failed, though the unease in his stomach remained. Was this a nightmare, or was this really happening? But then, he supposed, if he was aware enough to ask himself whether or not he was dreaming, he probably wasn’t dreaming.

Which was a shame because at least he could have woken up from a nightmare. There was no waking from reality, he was fairly certain. Which was also a shame, because reality had become a nightmare that he’d like to wake up from. If he could wake up from it, which he couldn’t.

He was distracted from his rambling thoughts by kisses to his inner thigh and the hand wrapping around his penis. A sigh of resignation slipped out of his mouth before he could think to stop it as Adler started to stroke. Even with the unease in his stomach, he felt mostly bored. He hoped that Adler would tire of the game sooner than later so he could go back to sleep.

Then Klink felt Adler’s mouth join his hand. The fury and humiliation at the newest violation almost immediately dimmed to irritation and embarrassment as Adler continued to mouth him. Before long, even those feelings had shifted to mere annoyance. “Stop that,” Klink mumbled, as even the annoyance faded away.

Adler stopped and kissed Klink’s stomach. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Think of it as a … as a little reward for being so reasonable. Just enjoy it.”

A shudder of revulsion went through Klink as Adler went back to what he’d been doing, but the emotion proved as difficult to hold on to as all the other emotions Adler had inspired in him. Klink didn’t try too hard to maintain the feeling anyway. It was pretty clear that he was dreaming now. Not because of what Adler was doing to him—wanting to perform fellatio was truly a minor perversion on top of the others the monster enjoyed—but because of his own reaction to it. Or, more specifically, the way he _wasn’t_ reacting to it.

For once, his traitorous body showed no interest in what Adler was doing. For once, there was no sick feeling in his gut that promised eventual betrayal. Adler might as well have been sucking on his finger for all the difference it made.

So, not a nightmare then. Klink’s eyes felt heavy and he closed them. He smiled, and the world faded away once more.

* * *

Perhaps it was just fatigue—Carter had said that the Englishman had been at this all night without a rest—but Kinch noticed that the normally nonchalant and laid-back safecracker was agitated. A little more churlish usual. A little unfocused at times. It was all very subtle, and Kinch would have put it down to his imagination except he knew that, as much as Newkirk liked to hide it, he had emotions just like the rest of them.

It wasn’t as though Newkirk didn’t have a reason to be nervous, if he was nervous. Kinch would be nervous too if he’d had to do what Newkirk had volunteered for. Considering Newkirk’s feelings on the subject, and the fact that it was possible that the Simeons would not come through for them again, that Newkirk would be willing to take the risk of being raped... it didn’t make much sense.

Or maybe his bravado was such that he thought, if he _did_ end up with no back up, he’d be able to get out of it all on his own.

Luckily for Newkirk and his bravado, Kinch was prepared to do whatever he had to do back up Newkirk if it _did_ come to that.

“Newkirk? Are you still down here?” Colonel Hogan’s voice rung out, making both Newkirk and Kinch jump.

Newkirk smiled tiredly at Hogan when he came into view. “There’s still a lot of work to be done, governor.”

Hogan gave Newkirk a skeptical look. “Sergeant Carter tells me that you finished all the work for the mission last night.”

“Tattle-tale,” Newkirk grumbled.

The Colonel continued on as though Newkirk hadn’t spoken. “I want you to go get some rest. I don’t know when they’re going to send for you, so you should at least be topside for that.”

The Englishman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 _He must be tired_ , Kinch thought, _to be giving in so easily._

Hogan explained briefly to Newkirk what Klink thought the plan was—that the Kommandant thought _he_ would be killing Adler once they got where they were going to.

“I can’t say I think much of the backup plan,” Newkirk said, frowning. “But I suppose counting on the Iron Chicken is only _slightly_ barmier than counting on the Seven Simpletons.”

“Backup plan?” Kinch felt a bit chagrined that he hadn’t realized this for himself. “The Kommandant is your backup plan?”

The Colonel grinned. “Well, now he’s the backup backup plan.” He turned to Newkirk. “I’m sending Kinch along with the Simeons to keep them in line for us.” Then his grin faded. “Are you sure you want to do this, Newkirk?” he asked, his plea clear. “No one would think twice about it if you backed out.”

Newkirk made a sour face. “You asked for volunteers and I volunteered—I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it.” He walked passed them, putting his hands in his pockets and looking all the world like he was just going for a leisurely stroll. “I’ll be in my bunk, if anyone needs me.”

And then he was gone.

“Kinch.”

Kinch turned to look at his commander.

He looked tired. “I really wish you hadn’t said anything about volunteering for this mission,” Hogan complained, his weary tone softening the accusing words. “I can’t tell him he can’t volunteer—not without insulting him.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I’d love to know what possessed him to do it in the first place.”

“I’d tell you if I knew, sir,” Kinch said. Then, figuring now was as good a time as any, he asked: “What did Adler want with Wilson?”

There was no mistaking the disgust on Hogan’s face as he sat down on the stool Newkirk had been using. “Adler wasn’t finished with Klink last night when we’d left him, and he took the liberty or removing Wilson’s bandages—he wanted Wilson to reapply them.” He shook his head, annoyance coming to join the disgust. “How the hell Adler’s managed to get away with _anything_ for so long is beyond me. He’s been taking a lot of really stupid chances.”

It sounded like Adler had admitted nothing except, possibly, being responsible for injuring a camp commandant to said commandant’s prisoners, to people Adler had every right to believe did not care and were in no position to do anything about it if they did. “What stupid chances do you mean?”

Hogan’s expression offered nothing for several seconds before he sighed in resignation. “What Adler did with Sergeant Jackson … he tried to pull that with me.”

Kinch felt his eyes go wide. “In front of Wilson and Klink?”

“Well, no.” Hogan explained how he’d convinced the General that Wilson had a phobia and then his own subsequent banishment from Klink’s bedroom by the medic. He recounted briefly the incident he’d referred to at the start and smiled wryly. “I was too fast for him, but he had some nerve to even try it in the first place with Corporal Langenscheidt just behind the door.” Putting his hands on his knees, his gaze turned towards the floor. “Klink had warned me not to underestimate him. And I suppose I should have expected him to try something considering—” he broke off abruptly, as though suddenly mindful of what he was saying.

“Considering what?” Kinch pressed. It wasn’t often that is commander said things he didn’t mean to say—that he was doing so now meant that whatever it was that he was talking about was something disturbing to him.

The Colonel also wasn’t one to embarrass easily, but it seemed like he was close to being so now. “Considering the fact that Adler wants to, uh, he asked for _me_ personally when he’d told Klink to give him a prisoner.” He closed his eyes for a moment before looking up at Kinch again, trying and failing to look amused. “He must be so disappointed to have to settle … for...” His mouth dropped open, and he slapped himself in the forehead. “I am an idiot.”

Kinch immediately picked up on what the Colonel had just realized. “Is it too late for you to tell Klink to switch Newkirk with you?”

Still looking annoyed with himself, he nodded. “I’d risk it if Newkirk wanted to back out, but I’m sure that Adler asked for me when Klink agreed to give him a prisoner—it’d be pretty strange if Klink suddenly changed his mind after getting Adler to accept Newkirk instead.” As he’d been speaking, the thoughtful furrows in his brow had been getting deeper, angrier. “I wish we’d heard what the hell he said to Adler to get him to go for that.”

While this situation had its share of disturbing elements, this frustration seemed out of place. Kinch could understand that Hogan had lost the opportunity to keep Newkirk out of this mess, but that wasn’t the only part of this that seemed to vex his commander. There was something that he wasn’t saying: his interest in the content of the conversation between Klink and Adler didn’t make much sense as it stood.

The important thing was Adler would be in place for tonight, wasn’t it?

“Maybe you should ask Klink what he said,” he suggested simply.

The suggestion earned him a dark look. Then Hogan slumped a bit as he returned his hat to his head. “I’ll probably end up doing that. Klink told me that he’d tell me anything I wanted to know after the mission tonight.”

“In exchange for your help?” Kinch asked, uncertain whether one ought to be using a form of extortion on someone who was already being blackmailed.

“It wasn’t like that, Kinch,” Hogan snapped, obviously noting Kinch’s discomfort with the idea. “It wasn’t like I said: ‘Talk or die!’”

“Of course not, sir,” Kinch returned mildly. “But forgive me for thinking that you might be willing to use the fact that we’re helping him to get him to open up to you.”

The resentment on Hogan’s face persisted for a moment longer before fading away. “All right, it _did_ occur to me,” he admitted, “but I’d already decided not to play it that way. _He_ was the one who insisted that I name my price.” He shook his head. “He seemed terrified at the prospect of being in my debt—I can’t imagine what he’s so afraid that _I’d_ do with that leverage.”

“So you told him to answer your questions?”

Now, Hogan frowned. “No. _I_ told him I’d settle for him talking to me. He’d actually offered the telling-me-anything-I-wanted-to-know before asking me what I wanted for my help.” His frown deepened. “He said that there was something he’d done that would make me less likely to _want_ to help, but that he didn’t want to tell me until _after_ tonight.” He smirked. “I suppose that answers the question about whether or not he really wants to live.”

 _‘Curiouser and curiouser’ said Alice._ “Have any idea what he’s done that’s so bad?”

Hogan shook his head. “There’s no point in guessing, is there?”

To anyone else, this question would have sounded matter of fact. To Kinch, it sounded clipped. Perhaps Hogan had an idea or two that he didn’t want to share. “I guess not, sir.” It was tempting to press, but Kinch knew no good would come out of trying to force anything out of his commander now.

“There is some good news though,” Hogan said brightly. “Wilson tells me that Klink should make a full physical recovery.”

“You convinced Klink to let Wilson examine him?” Kinch was stunned. Especially considering how little the Kommandant liked being touched these days, the fact that the Colonel had managed to pull that off—

Hogan’s smile was somewhat chagrined. “I wish I’d been there to see how Wilson performed that miracle, but he’s the one who managed to convince him.” His smile dimmed. “Of course, in the end, Klink panicked, so I had to pin him while Wilson shot him full of morphine.”

Unfortunate, but no real surprise. Something Hogan had said earlier came back to him. “You said he’d ‘physically’ recover?”

For a moment, Kinch thought that the Colonel wouldn’t answer him. “Wilson is of the opinion that Klink has battle fatigue.” From the way he said this, it was plain that he put little credence in the diagnosis.

“Battle fatigue?” Kinch give the matter some consideration. “Well, with what Klink’s been through lately, I’d say that it’s not impossible.” Seeing Hogan’s skepticism, he explained his thoughts. “Adler’s pretty violent with the Kommandant: hitting him, screaming at him, whipping him—add that to the rape, and I’d say that’s a lot like torture. Don’t forget, Adler’s Gestapo: they know how to torture someone. And you know how some guys are after they get out of those interrogation rooms.”

As he’d been speaking, understanding bloomed on Hogan’s face. Clearly, this angle had not occurred to him. “You know, Kinch, I think you might be on to something there.” Then he sighed. “But I hope you’re wrong. I can’t send for someone to sort him out. All I can offer him a friendly ear and some encouragement, and hope that it’s enough to set him right again.”

While Kinch had told him to do just that, he was a little worried about the prospect. Colonel Hogan was a brilliant man with many fine qualities, but his strengths were weaknesses here. He wasn’t a listener, for one thing: he was a problem solver. He looked for solutions. While that served him very well in his role as Papa Bear, it could be a problematic quality when it came to whatever role he planned to play for Klink.

Hogan was also very focused on goals. Like the goal to get Klink ‘set right again’—in his heart of hearts, Kinch wasn’t convinced that Klink would ever be completely free of Adler’s influence, even after Adler was gone. He had to wonder what Hogan would do once he discovered that there was no scheme he could devise that would make Klink well.

But still, as he’d told the Kommandant, Hogan was all he had, and as long as Hogan was willing to be there for the German, Kinch would do his best to be hopeful.

“No need to look _that_ worried about the idea,” Hogan grumbled with good humor. “I’ve come a long way since this thing started.”

That much, Kinch couldn’t argue with. “I know, sir. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

A grateful smile. “I know where to find you.” He stood and brushed off his pants signaling that this conversation was over. “Get a hold of the Simeons and tell them that they’re going to come pick you up—I’ll take care of Roll Call. Just let me know before you go.”

Kinch nodded. “What are you going to do now, sir?”

Hogan gestured upwards. “I’m going to go topside. I don’t know when they’re going to come for Newkirk, but I want to be there when they do.” ‘It’s the least I can do’ went unsaid but Kinch could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice.

He watched his commander leave before standing up himself. He’d been given a lot of things to consider, but now was not the time for idle contemplation. The sooner he got in contact with the Simeons, the sooner he could feel better about the risk his friend and comrade was so determined to take. Everything else could, and would, wait.


	58. Following Disorder

The trip to Fraulein Hilda’s house hadn’t been pleasant. Although Hilda had made no further demands and didn’t ask any questions, Schultz had never heard a more upset, frustrated silence. Unfortunately, as much as Schultz understood her frustration, he couldn’t give her the explanations she wanted. It wasn’t safe.

She was a very clever girl, but he didn’t trust her with the truth just now—not with how much she _already_ disliked Adler. He didn’t want to risk having her go to the authorities once she discovered that Adler had forced the Kommandant to do whatever it was that she’d seen. That it hadn’t been a choice the Big Shot had made for himself. 

He didn’t know if she would appreciate how dangerous turning Adler in would be for the Colonel, and he didn’t want to take that risk without due cause. Being curious for a little longer would not harm the girl, while lifting her curiosity with the ‘eagle’ still perched at Stalag 13 might cause serious harm to the Kommandant. 

So, he’d endured the silence and the tense car ride with a certain measure of thanks. 

It was only when he dropped her off at her home that Hilda finally deigned to say anything to him. “I want you to promise me something,” she’d said, the frustration of before giving way to anxious worry. “Please, if something happens, promise me that you’ll call.” Her eyes threatened to well with tears. “I don’t want to come to work tomorrow and find out that he’s, he’s gone that way.”

Schultz had promised. Then he’d wasted no time in getting back on the road for the return trip to Stalag 13. The ride back to camp felt much longer than it possibly could have been. He was only too aware that the only thing standing between the Kommandant and quite possible suicide was Colonel Hogan. And, while the American was undeniably persuasive, it was also impossible to ignore the fact that, once Langenscheidt showed up for his shift, the Senior POW could be easily removed from the picture. 

By the time he arrived back to camp, Langenscheidt had been on duty for close to an hour. As he hurried from the motor pool, he saw a crowd of guards and prisoners but, before he had a chance to panic, he remembered that it was the silly volleyball tournament that the prisoners were putting on.

It was something of a relief, actually—he couldn’t imagine that there would still be a volleyball tournament going on if the camp Kommandant had killed himself.

He was less relieved to run into General Adler, who also appeared to want to visit the Kommandant.

“Ah, Sergeant,” Adler said, his smile deeply unpleasant beneath a thin veneer of friendliness. “What a surprise.”

Schultz saluted. “General.” While he didn’t think the man in front of him was worthy of the title, he wasn’t about to let on that he thought so.

“And what are you doing here?” The General seemed to be in no hurry to return the salute.

“I need to requisition some supplies,” Schultz lied, proud that he was able to think of something so reasonable so quickly.

Adler seemed to consider this before shaking his head. “My apologies, Sergeant, but I’m afraid that the Kommandant is … indisposed.” He tilted his head. “Since you’re not busy, why don’t you come help me?”

Indisposed? What had this, this _ogre_ done to his commander now! Schultz did his best to keep his worries hidden, but his voice sounded flat and angry when he spoke. “Yes, sir.” 

Adler narrowed his eyes. “Is something the matter, Sergeant?”

Quickly, Schultz shook his head. “No, sir.”

The eyes remained narrow for a moment more before Adler turned away from him. “All right, then,” he said, suddenly cheerful. “My luggage isn’t going to move itself!”

Luggage? Schultz followed the General to the guest quarters to find that all of the things the General had brought with him were packed back into his suitcases. 

“Pack these into my staff car,” Adler ordered imperiously. “If anything is broken, I’ll see the cost is taken out of your pay.” 

Schultz nodded, used to threats such as these. He supposed, as he picked up the first two suitcases, that he should count himself lucky that _this_ was all the General was threatening him with. “Yes, sir.” He’d been about to leave the building with his burdens when Adler came to stand in front of the door.

“Don’t think that this is over, Sergeant Schultz,” he said smugly. “Next time I come here, I won’t have to worry about interference from you.”

It wasn’t a threat, Schultz could tell that. This was Adler rubbing a victory under his nose. It probably would have been more effective if the Sergeant had had any idea what the General was on about. “Sir?” he asked, not having to pretend to be baffled.

Adler’s smile was slow and cruel. “Colonel Klink didn’t even argue when I told him to send you away.” His smile widened into a grin. “It surprised me how eager he was to be rid of you.”

This announcement brought up too many emotions for Schultz to feel anything right away. He merely stared at the Gestapo general and wished he could tell when someone was lying to him. Adler probably was lying. Or, if he wasn’t lying about the transfer, he might be lying about the Kommandant’s eagerness to agree to it. Or maybe he wasn’t lying at all—the Big Shot threatened to transfer him at least once a month, after all. It could very well be completely true, now that he was thinking about it. 

“Nothing to say?” 

Schultz shook his head. “No, sir.” Inwardly, he marveled at how unconcerned he sounded when inside he was feeling very glum indeed. He would have been proud of his control over his tone if he’d actually had any control over it. It was just the shock, he was sure.

Adler’s disappointment in his lack of outward reaction was plain, and he stepped out of Schultz’s way with almost a child’s resentment. “Just pack my car, Sergeant.”

During the trip to the motor pool, Schultz thought over his possible probably impending transfer. He’d never liked change. In his experience, change seldom was for the better. Even with the craziness he often dealt with here, he’d rather stick with the craziness he knew than to get used to some new evil. 

Perhaps he could get the Kommandant to change his mind? Beg, perhaps?

Assuming, of course, that Colonel Klink was still alive to beg favors from. The thought reminded Schultz of what was important, and he quickened his pace. 

When he returned to collect more suitcases from the guest quarters, Adler was gone. It was a worrying development, but he didn’t see what he could do about it. If he chased after the General without finishing his task, he’d just be ordered away again and be left open to a reprimand for his trouble. 

No, the only solution was to finish this was quickly as possible and hope that General Adler wasn’t doing anything terrible in the meantime.

It took what seemed like a long time (Adler had far too much luggage and the distance between the motor pool and the guest quarters was not as small as it could be), but finally, panting and sweating despite the cold, Schultz loaded the last bags into the trunk. Shutting the trunk, he leaned on it and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. 

He would have liked to rest a bit, but he’d taken long enough to see to the Kommandant as it was. Schultz approached the office building and had been about to start up the stairs when Adler came out the door.

The self-satisfied smile on the other man’s face froze in surprise before his expression became more neutral. “Finished already, Sergeant?”

Schultz saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Adler started down the stairs. “I _did_ tell you that the Kommandant was indisposed, didn’t I?” His tone was a strange mixture of threatening and bored.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I don’t think I need to tell you to leave again, do I?”

“No, sir.”

Another slow smile. “Good.” He returned Schultz’s salute and waited.

Not needing to be told again, Schultz turned on his heel. He could feel the other man’s eyes boring into his back as he made his way to Barracks 8. He didn’t stop walking until he was behind the building. Then, with as much stealth as he could find, he peeked around the edge, waiting for Adler to leave.

Luckily, Adler didn’t linger long. Schultz could just hear Adler whistling a jaunty tune as he strode away from the steps towards where the guest quarters were.

Schultz waited a few minutes longer—he did not want to be caught disobeying a direct order quite so blatantly!—before he made his way back to the office building. When he walked into Hilda’s office, he was further surprised to see Langenscheidt there in light of the way that _he’d_ been ushered away by the General. 

The Corporal came to attention the moment that Schultz shut the door behind him. “Sergeant, I’m glad you’re here.” 

He sounded like he meant it, and Schultz couldn’t help but notice how anxious the young man in front of him was. Not the most heartening sign. “Is there a problem, Langenscheidt?” 

Langenscheidt’s smile was pained. “I’m not sure. It’s been very confusing here—and I’ve had to take orders from General Adler.”

General Adler had struck Schultz as unpleasant even before the Jackson incident. He wondered if Langenscheidt had a reason besides the General’s being Gestapo to sound so distressed about having to follow the man’s orders. And, on that topic... “What orders?”

The younger man looked startled, and Schultz realized that his tone had been overly terse. “He wanted me to bring him the prisoner’s medic.” 

Adler wanted Sergeant Wilson? What had he done to the Colonel this time! Schultz shook his head to shoo the thought away before he showed his fear too plainly. “Did he say what he wanted Sergeant Wilson for?”

Judging by the sudden worry on Langenscheidt’s face, Schultz’s fear had shown despite his efforts. “No, but I brought Colonel Hogan along, too.”

This attempted mollification failed as it only served to remind Schultz that his commander hadn’t been the only one General Adler had done something to. It was perfectly possible that Adler hadn’t sent for the prisoner’s medic because the Kommandant was injured. And Colonel Hogan, for all of his cleverness and guile, had as little power as any of the other prisoners did. His mouth was dry. “What happened then?”

“General Adler ordered me to stay in the office while he and the prisoners went into the Kommandant’s quarters.” He shook his head, suddenly defensive. “I wasn’t pleased to leave the prisoners alone with General Adler, but I didn’t want to disobey orders, did I?”

Following orders was the fall-back position of any good soldier—Schultz could not fault the Corporal for doing just that. However, the situation being what it was, he worried what the results of Langenscheidt’s obedience had been. 

“Did I, did I do the wrong thing?” Langenscheidt asked nervously, perhaps noticing how long Schultz was taking to respond to what he’d heard. Either that or Schultz hadn’t managed to hide his worry well enough.

Schultz managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You can never get into trouble for following orders, Corporal. Just follow orders, and no one can be mad at you.” It struck him, as the words left his mouth, that he wasn’t following his own advice. 

If _he_ were following orders, he would have truly left when Adler had ordered him to. If he were following orders, he wouldn’t have gone to Colonel Hogan for help this morning after the Kommandant had ordered him not to get involved last night. 

On the heels of this realization came a more disturbing one. Even if he couldn’t be angry at Langenscheidt for following orders, that didn’t change the fact that, in this case, his following orders could have contributed to something horrible. 

And Schultz had to know as soon as possible whether or not his fear was unfounded. “Are Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Wilson still here?”

Langenscheidt shook his head. “They left a half hour or so after General Adler did. I mean, the first time he left. He was just here not too long ago.” His brow furrowed. “He didn’t say what he wanted to see the Kommandant for, but he didn’t say what he wanted to see the Kommandant for the first time either, so that wasn’t so strange.”

Seeming to realize that he was beginning to go off on a tangent, he shook his head again. “Before he left, Colonel Hogan told me that the Kommandant was sleeping and would only see you or General Adler. So, I haven’t seen him since the first time the General was here.”

It sounded like the prisoners were fine, and Klink had probably been fine when Hogan had left, considering what he’d said. And, Schultz would like to think, General Adler would not be whistling jaunty tunes if _he’d_ discovered that the Kommandant had killed himself. But then again, Adler was depraved even by Gestapo standards—who knew what _he_ found amusing?

“How long ago was that?” Schultz asked, his worry for the prisoners’ welfare returning to his worry about the Kommandant’s. “When Colonel Hogan left?”

“Oh, almost a half hour now. Maybe a little more?” The Corporal half-shrugged. “I haven’t been keeping very close track of time.” He frowned, concerned. “Is that important?”

Schultz didn’t know yet if it was or not. All he knew was that a lot could happen in a half hour. “No,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I was only curious.” Then he shrugged, shooting for annoyed. “I might as well see how the Big Shot is getting on.”

Langenscheidt was still frowning, but with suspicion now. “I’ll wait here, shall I?”

As there was no way of knowing what condition the Kommandant was in, that was a given. There was no need to involve the young man standing in front of him unnecessarily—there were far too many people involved in this mess as it was already. “That’s probably best.”

Wasting no more time, Schultz walked through the Kommandant’s office into the Kommandant’s quarters. As had been the case the night before, no one was in the living room, the door to the bedroom had been left ajar, and things seemed just a little too quiet. Not allowing himself to think about what might be waiting for him there, he quickly made his way to the Colonel’s bedroom.

Klink was laying in his bed, under the covers, on his back, with his face turned towards the door. He looked peaceful and Schultz could hear him snoring softly. Schultz had been about to leave—not having the heart to wake his commander when it was so obvious that he needed the sleep—when he noticed a pill bottle on the bedside table, and a horrible thought struck him.

After all, there was more than one way to commit suicide. He picked up the pill bottle, feeling faintly ill as he realized that it was half empty. “Kommandant?”

There was no response. The Big Shot continued to sleep.

Fear made his stomach clench. “Kommandant!”

Klink’s forehead furrowed, but his eyes remained closed. 

Progress! “Sir, you must wake up!” 

Slowly, but obligingly, Klink opened his eyes. He blinked up at Schultz in total incomprehension. “Hmm?”

“Kommandant,” Schultz prompted, uncertain yet whether he had any right to be relieved. “How many pills did you take?”

A smile, a bright happy smile, lit up the other man’s features. “Schultz!” Klink greeted enthusiastically as he clumsily pushed himself up. “Schultz, what brings you here?” The blanket fell down to his lap, revealing his open bathrobe and the bands of bandages around his chest.

Schultz didn’t think that the Colonel had _ever_ looked so happy to see him. In light of what he’d feared had happened, this was not encouraging. “Sir, tell me how many pills you took.”

Confusion bloomed on Klink’s face. “Pills? What are you talking about?”

“These,” Schultz said, holding the bottle out to him.

He took the bottle with reluctance and it took several tries for him to get the cover off. His shoulders slumped as he stared at the pills inside. “I guess this means that it wasn’t just a dream,” he said with a sigh. “I was really hoping that it had been.” Before Schultz could ask any questions (not that he’d been planning to, of course), he shook his head. “Oh well.” His abrupt grin was startling. “But I am glad to see _you_. Why are you here?”

Suddenly mindful of protocol, Schultz saluted. “I’m here to report that I have taken Fraulein Hilda home, as ordered.”

Klink returned the salute with a cheerful one of his own. “Thank you, Sergeant.” Then he seemed troubled, but in a strange, almost inebriated way. “Is the Fraulein still upset?”

Was he drunk? “She’s worried, Kommandant,” he said bluntly. Honesty compelled him to add, “I am too, sir.” He hesitated before pressing on: once a man says A, he must say B. “Was the Fraulein right? Are you planning to commit suicide?”

“Not anymore,” Klink answered, his smile entirely too pleasant considering the implication that he had been planning on doing just that. “The situation is different now.” He stared at Schultz for a long moment, concentrating. “I need you to do something for me. It’s important.”

“What is it?”

The Kommandant’s brow furrowed with contemplation, and he remained silent long enough for Schultz to wonder if the Big Shot was going to say anything at all. “If anyone asks you,” he said in the slow, deliberate way of a drunken man trying to voice a complicated thought, “I need you to lie about who escaped two days ago. I need you to say that it was Corporal Newkirk.” 

Why did the Colonel need him to lie about who had escaped? Who would be asking? Why did it matter? Schultz did not ask these questions. ‘Why’ questions were dangerous, as were questions that started with ‘how’ or contained the phrase ‘Colonel Hogan.’ Of course, there were risks to just agreeing to do what he’d just been asked as well. He had to be certain that the risk was one he could justify. “You think someone will ask me?”

“I’m certain,” Klink said, smiling again. “After General Adler flies away tonight...” he trailed off, his eyes going wide with realization. “Flying away! The eagle is flying away!” He laughed merrily, nearly giggling. “I understand now!”

Schultz wished _he_ did. “Sir?”

Klink’s recovery was slow, but he finally got a hold of himself. “How much did Colonel Hogan tell you about ‘the eagle flying away’?” His tone was curious, but not demanding. 

“That was all he said,” Schultz answered warily. What was going on here? Why did it seem like the Big Shot knew more about whatever Hogan was planning than _Schultz_ did? “He said, ‘I think the eagle will fly away soon,’ and that was all.” 

The Kommandant looked a little skeptical but shrugged. “Well, Adler _will_ be leaving us, so, I need a reason, you see?”

“A reason?” Schultz echoed. 

“For taking Corporal Newkirk out of camp,” he explained patiently. 

And then Schultz understood. “You and General Adler are taking the Englander out of camp.”

A nod. “Hogan _insisted_ that it be him.” The troubled look returned. “I don’t know _why_ it has to be him, but I’m not going argue.” He frowned for a moment longer and then smiled hopefully. “Will you help me, Sergeant?”

There was no need to even think it over now—he’d as good as agreed to this when he asked Hogan for help this morning. Still, he wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of the Big Shot and Colonel Hogan collaborating. It didn’t seem very … it didn’t seem very much like the American _or_ his commander to work together this way. 

Not that _that_ was his concern, of course. “Yes, sir.”

“But it has to be convincing,” Klink said with new vigor. “I want you to take Corporal Newkirk to the cooler—discreetly!—, and then I want you to bring Fraulein Hilda back here.”

Schultz had thought he understood it all until the Fraulein became involved, especially since he’d just come back from bringing her home! He was so surprised that he broke one of his own rules. “Why?”

Klink’s grin was lopsided. “I never got around to writing the report, and the morphine won’t wear off in time for me to write it properly.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Even if it does, I’ve been finding it difficult to focus on paperwork lately.” A shrug. “She can write the report and file it for me.”

Morphine? Where had the Big Shot gotten morphine? Why would he be using it? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He just hoped that this would not become a habit—General Burkhalter would never stand for the Colonel being addled all the time. “She is going to want an explanation, Kommandant.”

Klink bowed his head. “I know,” he sighed. “I know.” Silence stretched between them as the Colonel seemed to consider the problem. “What do you know, Schultz? About Adler and me?”

Schultz wished he had a place to sit so he wasn’t looking down on the man in front of him. He debated whether to remain under the cover of ignorance but couldn’t bring himself to now that he was being asked so plainly. “I believe that General Adler is forcing you to commit homosexual acts. I don’t know why you have been cooperating with him, but I assume that there is some kind of threat involved.”

“Blackmail,” the Colonel confirmed quietly. He looked up, allowing Schultz to see the disconcertingly jovial expression on his face. “I won’t ask how you figured it out—hearing Hogan explain how _he_ did it was hard enough for me.”

Colonel Hogan knew about this? For how _long_? It hadn’t occurred to Schultz that the American might already know, and he realized that it should have. How many times had Hogan come out with things that he shouldn’t know? And, if he’d known about it … 

… why had he waited until _now_ to do something?

Shaking his head, Schultz put the thought out of his mind. He didn’t have any way of knowing how long Hogan had known, and it was far too late for that to matter. What _did_ matter now was Fraulein Hilda and what she was told. “What do you want me to tell the Fraulein? Do you want her to know the truth?”

“Of course not,” Klink said lightly. “I don’t want _anyone_ to know about this, but that doesn’t seem to be a choice I get to make.” The words should have been bitter but merely sounded matter of fact. He pursed his lips. “Do you think she _ought_ to know?”

That was a good question. Schultz didn’t think she had a _right_ to know, per se, but he also didn’t think that she’d cooperate with them if they told her nothing. After that suicide note, she’d want real answers. “I think,” he said at last, uncertain if there was a particular answer his commander was looking for, “that she will keep asking questions until she gets an answer that fits what she sees.”

Klink frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think that she still believes that you are just a homosexual with poor taste in partners,” Schultz said bluntly. “Not with the note you wrote to her. She will be looking for a new explanation that fits.”

“And she won’t stop until she finds one,” Klink finished, looking fairly glum. “I see your point. I just, I don’t think she deserves that burden.” When he spoke again, his tone was an interesting blend of amusement and defeat. “But I suppose telling her the truth will be less stressful for both of us in the long run than trying to hide it forever.”

Schultz did not want to make the offer he was about to make, but he found himself making it anyway out of pity. “Do you want me to tell her, sir?”

The Colonel considered it. “If she were here now, I would be able to tell her, I think. But I don’t know how I’ll be by the time she’s here.” He chuckled. “I haven’t actually had to tell _anyone_ so far—I wouldn’t even know where to start!” Then, seeming to realize that he hadn’t really answered the question, he nodded. “You can tell her. Somewhere private, of course.”

“Of course,” Schultz agreed. “I will go fetch the Fraulein after I bring Corporal Newkirk to the cooler. Is there anything else, Kommandant?”

Klink was smiling brightly again. “If I’m going to be having company, I probably should be dressed. Would you help me up, Sergeant?” He held out his hand.

Considering how the Colonel reacted the last few times Schultz had touched him, he was surprised by the request. “You told me to keep my hands to myself.”

“I know, but I’ll be all right for now.” Klink leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “I’m too pumped full of drugs to be afraid of you.”

Schultz didn’t know what to make of the clear admission that the Kommandant was actually afraid of him, so he put it back to think about later. He took hold of Klink’s arm and helped him stand. 

The next fifteen minutes were an adventure in trying to keep the man on his feet and on task, but, at the end, Klink was dressed and looked more or less presentable except for his wide grin and almost fever bright eyes. Schultz prayed that Major Hochstetter or General Burkhalter or anyone else would not choose _today_ to visit—it was obvious that the Colonel was not himself.

Klink smoothed down his uniform jacket, nodding approvingly. “This is much better than being in my bathrobe.” He returned his attention to Schultz. “I want to see Fraulein Hilda once the report is written up.”

“Yes, sir.” Schultz saluted. Then he lowered his hand, his earlier conversation with Adler coming back to him. “I have a question, Kommandant.”

“What is it?”

Schultz knew he didn’t have much in the way of finesse, so he didn’t try. “Am I being transferred from Stalag 13?”

To his surprise, Klink actually seemed taken aback. “Who told you that?”

Was this a good sign or not? “General Adler, sir.”

“Ah.” Klink relaxed, the happy smile returning to his face. “You’re not being transferred,” he pointed his finger in the air and waggled it, “but don’t tell him I told you so.” He reached out and took hold of Schultz’s arm. “You’re a good man, Schultz. Never doubt it.”

Schultz had the strangest feeling that this last hadn’t been directed towards him at all. “I won’t, sir.” His happiness and relief over not being transferred distracted him from the fact that the Big Shot was still latched on to him, but not for long. He waited for his arm to be released but it seemed that the Colonel was in no hurry to do so. “It will take some time to go get Fraulein Hilda, and I should bring the Englander to the cooler as soon as possible.”

It took a moment longer than Schultz had thought it would for Klink to understand where he was going with this. “Of course.” He let his hand fall away from Schultz’s arm. “I’ll want to see the Fraulein once the report is finished.”

Seeing no point in saying that he’d already received this order, he merely saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Diss-missed!” Klink returned the salute with a flourish, tittering. 

Leaving his still tittering commander behind, Schultz shook his head. The Big Shot’s strange behavior was no doubt due to the morphine—once it wore off, he’d be back to, well, not _normal_ but normal enough to deal with General Burkhalter, at least. It wasn’t worth worrying about now. As for the things that _were_ worth worrying about... Later, if he had to (and he was pessimistically certain that he’d have to), he could worry.

He told Langenscheidt on the way out to the compound to return to the Kommandant’s office. Langenscheidt had asked no questions but it was clear that he’d wanted to. Schultz was glad of the younger man’s restraint. 

Schultz hoped, as he approached Barracks 2, that the British Corporal would show similar restraint. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a sarcastic Englander, and the last thing he needed was the prisoner to make a fuss.

* * *

Newkirk had _planned_ on getting a bit of shut eye before whatever happened tonight happened, but the fates seemed to be against it. First, there had been the loud argument between Foster and Johnson about who had cheated whom. Then, once _that_ had settled down, Colonel Hogan had come up from the tunnels. While the Colonel hadn’t asked if Newkirk had changed his mind about volunteering, it had been obvious in his gaze that he really wanted him to reconsider. 

It was a bit difficult to get any sleep with a yank officer burning a hole in his skull, but Newkirk was determined to at least keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he faked being asleep long enough, the Colonel would find something more interesting to do than stare at him. Even if he didn’t, well, there were only so many ways to say that he hadn’t changed his mind! 

He heard the door to the barracks open but he didn’t open his eyes. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly have any business with _him_.

“Corporal Newkirk,” Schultz said, sounding very apologetic, “I need you to wake up.”

Oh. “I’m awake, I’m wake,” Newkirk replied, deciding against prolonging this conversation by pretending otherwise. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. “What’s the matter, Schultzie?”

Schultz looked as apologetic as he’d sounded. “The Kommandant has ordered me to escort you to the cooler.”

The cooler? Newkirk opened his mouth to protest but noticed that Hogan was nodding at him encouragingly. He closed his mouth as he realized what this was for. This was so it looked good for General Poof. “All right, I’ll come quietly, but only if I can have cell three.” It was one of the couple cells that did _not_ have a tunnel leading to it. If he had to see one more surreptitious look of concern, he was going to hurt someone. That went double for any variation of the question ‘Are you _sure_ you want to do this?’ 

He didn’t think he’d ever _been_ so happy to be going to the cooler! 

Schultz looked confused by the request but nodded. “I can do that for you.”

The Colonel was frowning at him but offered no argument.

Good. Newkirk managed a cocky smile. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

As he followed Schultz out to the cooler, the smile fell from his face. Of course he didn’t want to do this! He’d have to be crazy not to be worried about tonight going tits up, and, whatever faults he could find in himself, Newkirk knew that he wasn’t crazy. Of course he was worried! He wouldn’t trust those Simeons with a stick of butter, never mind anything important like this mission. And the Colonel’s idea for the ‘backup’ was not much better. Newkirk trusted Kinch with his life, but Kinch had no real way of controlling what the Simeons did. If the Simeons refused to deal with Kinch, _then_ he had to depend on the Kommandant. Which was like depending on a safe made of cardboard to protect valuables. 

Considering what he was getting himself into with this mission, he thought that the comparison worked a little _too_ well!

But then, it was precisely that risk of how easily this whole thing could be bungled by those idiots that had made his decision for him in the first place. Nothing had changed since then to bolster his confidence in this plan. 

It wasn’t a _terrible_ plan in of itself, he decided as he and Schultz entered the cooler. It might have even been a _good_ plan if not for Simeons. However, things being as they were...

Still, it wasn’t as though there was much of a choice, was there? General Poof had to be dealt with now that the prisoners were involved. And, despite his reservations, the options for dealing with Adler were slim. 

So, it had to be done, and Newkirk would see it through to the end. He only hoped that he wouldn’t be _getting_ it in the end as well!

Which wasn’t even a little funny, actually.

“Cell three,” Schultz announced, holding the door open for him. He hesitated. “You will be all right tonight?”

Newkirk raised an eyebrow. Sounded like he knew a little more than he ought to. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that the Colonel shared information with the guard. Or maybe Schultz only knew that he would be going out with Adler tonight—Gestapo always made Schultz nervous. “I’ll be fine, Schultzie,” he said as he walked into the cell. “Don’t you worry yourself about little, old me.”

The German’s smile looked overly bright. “Of course, of course.” He shut the door and locked it. His unease was obvious, but the source of it was not immediately apparent. He seemed about to say something, before he shook his head. After giving Newkirk a final worried glance, he turned and walked away.

The bunk in the cell was only slightly more uncomfortable than the one in the barracks (as well as, pun intended, much cooler), and Newkirk relaxed as he stretched himself out upon it. Finally, some peace and quiet. No one was here to glance worriedly at him like he was about to be hanged. No one was here to ask him if he was _sure_ he wanted to trust his bodily integrity to the Seven Simpletons. No one was here to demand answers from him. No one was here to try to make him feel guilty for not getting all soft for the Iron Chicken.

About the only person he wouldn’t mind seeing now was Carter, and even Carter grated— _he_ was daft enough to think that everything would work out just fine.

Oh, to have the blissfully ignorant optimism of Andrew Carter!

He hoped, as he finally settled down into a doze, that Carter would still be so optimistic after tonight. For both their sakes.


	59. Loosed Ends

It had been difficult not to call. While no news was good news, no news was not good for Hilda’s nerves. She had no way of knowing whether or not Schultz would keep his promise, or if he’d be able to even if he wanted to. The more time that passed without word, the more anxious she’d become. House work had not been nearly distraction enough, and she had no focus to read or listen to the radio.

In defeat, she sat on the couch, her elbows coming to rest on her knees as her head rested in her hands. Unsurprisingly, her thoughts turned to Colonel Klink and his suicide note. There was something about that situation that wasn’t adding up. She had the impression that she was missing something, something substantial, about the situation with Klink and Adler. Otherwise, it just didn’t make sense.

She’d told him to break up with the General—not to kill himself! When she’d said to end it, that wasn’t what she’d meant at all! What kind of relationship was it that ‘ending it’ meant ‘committing suicide’? True, the General was a horrible person and their relationship was obviously unhealthy (not even counting the homosexuality), but it wasn’t as though Adler held all the power. These things always took two people, right?

Hilda felt herself frown. But then, Adler _was_ a General, and a Gestapo one at that. Perhaps, Klink feared the repercussions of having such a powerful man as a jilted lover?

No, that didn’t make sense either. What sort of repercussions would be worse than self-inflicted death? It wasn’t as though Adler could turn the Colonel in for being homosexual—not when _he_ was one himself! And, if Adler wanted to try accusing the Kommandant of something else, well, even the Gestapo needed _evidence_ , didn’t they?

So, why would Klink plan on killing himself? Because, despite his words to the contrary in his note, it was plain to Hilda that it _was_ her advice that had made him decide to make that choice. It hadn’t been her intention, of course, and he must have realized that—hence the note—but he _had_ told her that he’d end it.

And Schultz … he knew more than he was saying. How much more was impossible to say, but whatever he knew, he seemed determined to keep it from her. That had been true since the beginning, since she’d asked for his help. He’d known _then_ that Klink and Adler were homosexuals, and he hadn’t even given her a _hint_ beyond saying that the Kommandant wouldn’t appreciate her getting the authorities involved.

What more did he know that he _still_ wasn’t telling her? What was he hiding and _why_ was he hiding it? Wasn’t she firmly involved in this mess now? What more was there to protect her from?

And then there was Colonel Hogan. Never mind why Schultz had decided to go to him in the first place—sure, the American was very clever and always seemed very much in the know, but what kind of help had Schultz expected him to provide here? Dating advice? Nylons?—but then there was the fact that, apparently, Adler would be ‘flying away’ and, somehow, Hogan knew this or was behind it. Why was Adler leaving camp the solution to the problem? Was something going to happen to him?

Not that she particularly cared if anything happened to Adler, but why would something happening to Adler be necessary?

Finally, there was that throw-away bit about Sergeant Jackson which was both so important that Klink would want to tell Hogan about it personally if possible and so unimportant that Schultz saw no reason to tell her what it had been about. Maybe that business had nothing to do with Klink’s situation, but it was difficult to believe that when Schultz obviously knew what that was about and wouldn’t tell her _it_ either.

It was incredibly frustrating, but frustration could only sustain her for so long before the worry came back. If only she knew what was going on. If only someone would just tell her the truth! Maybe she should call. Maybe—

A knock on the front door startled her from her thoughts. Another knock came on its heels as she stood. By the time she’d gotten to the door, the knocking had ceased. She cracked open the door without undoing the chain lock.

Sergeant Schultz was standing on her doorstep. He smiled tiredly at her. “May I come in, Fraulein?”

Her hands shook as she undid the lock. “Of course, Sergeant.” Out of habit, she offered him a drink as he stepped inside.

He hesitated, as though the decision was a difficult one, before shaking his head. “No, thank you.” He looked around her living room. “Is there anyone else home now?”

“No,” Hilda answered slowly, her hands clutching each other in front of her stomach. Why was this important? She thought she knew, but she didn’t want to be right. “My father won’t be home for several hours yet.”

Schultz nodded, looking almost disappointed. “All right.” He screwed up his face in thought before nodding again. “Please sit.”

And then she was sure. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Schultz blinked at her dumbly before finding his voice. “What? No. No, he’s not dead.” A small smile. “He doesn’t plan to kill himself anymore. He assured me so.”

Pure relief made Hilda sag down onto the couch. “Thank God.” Then she stared up at the Sergeant, her relief turning to embarrassment and irritation. “And you couldn’t have called?”

“There was no time,” he countered patiently. “The Big Shot told me to bring you back to camp, and I thought it would be better to talk to you in person.”

There were several questions she could ask. So she did. “Bring me back to camp? For what? And why would you need to talk to me in person to tell me he’s all right?”

Silent seconds passed as the Sergeant collected his thoughts. “That wasn’t what I need to talk to you about,” he said at last. “You were wrong about General Adler and the Kommandant. What you saw yesterday, it wasn’t what you thought it was.”

“What was it then?” she demanded, having had her fill of not being told vital information. “If you know something, just tell me. Or do you think I can’t handle it?”

“It’s not that, Fraulein,” Schultz denied a little too quickly to be honest. “I just, it just wasn’t my place to say it. And the Colonel, he didn’t want to burden you, but he told me that I can tell you what’s really going on. If you want to hear it.”

Hilda crossed her arms in front of her chest. At that moment, she both did and didn’t want to know. However, her desire for the truth outweighed her fears about what that truth was. “Tell me, Sergeant.”

He sighed and looked away from her. “I don’t really know all the details, you understand. But the Colonel is being blackmailed into performing homosexual acts with General Adler.”

Blackmailed? Hilda could feel the blood drain from her face as the implication became clear. While it would be safer for her boss in the long run if he weren’t actually a pervert, the alternative was a thousand times worse than that. She already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask, but she needed to hear Schultz actually say it. She needed the clear, unambiguous confirmation that things were really as bad as that. “General Adler is forcing the Kommandant to,” she couldn’t bring herself to be that blunt, “to be intimate with him?”

Schultz nodded and closed his eyes.

She thought she might be sick. “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God.” Everything that hadn’t made sense when she’d witnessed that scene between Klink and Adler now made horrible, sickening sense. She replayed her conversation with the Colonel and felt simultaneously embarrassed and horrified by what she’d said to him. No wonder he’d laughed at her—she was lucky that was _all_ he’d done. “I didn’t know.”

“He didn’t want you to,” Schultz said, obviously trying to be comforting.

It wasn’t. Not even a little bit. Her boss had been raped by a Gestapo General and they were just sitting here _talking_ about it! Well, she wasn’t content to do that. She stood. “What are we going to do? We, we can’t let Adler get away with this!”

The Sergeant held out his hands, palms down, as though to calm an angry animal. “He won’t, but that is out of our hands—we can’t be rash about this. You understand?”

“Maybe I’d understand if you told me anything!” Hilda was aware that she was closer to sounding petulant than self-righteous but she didn’t care. Being told again and again and again that there was nothing she could do had been frustrating before; now that she knew what was going on, the thought of doing nothing was horrifying. Then another thought came to her and the anger she’d directed towards herself found a new target. “How long have you known about this!”

For a moment, she thought he was going to be angry back to her. Then he bowed his head. “I didn’t really know _anything_ for certain until you told me that you’d seen something,” he said quietly, bringing his head back up to look her in the eyes. “All I had were suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” Hilda frowned. “What suspicions?”

Schultz looked away from her. “I didn’t have _any_ thought that General Adler might be doing anything to the Kommandant until you suggested it to me, but once you did,” he sighed heavily, “I didn’t want to believe it.”

Hilda wished that she didn’t have to pry information out of the Sergeant like this—he had to know that he hadn’t answered her question yet! “But what did you suspect then?”

“I caught General Adler with his hands on one of the prisoners, Sergeant Jackson,” he explained with clear reluctance. “Jackson told me afterwards that Adler had been trying to kiss him, so I thought, when you suggested Adler might be doing something to the Big Shot, I thought that General Adler might have decided to go after _him_ instead.”

Well, that explained why Schultz wouldn’t tell her what the Sergeant Jackson business had been about! “And you couldn’t have told me that _that’s_ what you thought was going on?” Hilda demanded, upset all over again. If she’d have had any idea of what was really going on, she would have been much better prepared for what she’d seen! “That was vital information.” Seeing the blank stare Schultz was giving her, she explained in the slow tones she reserved for the exceptionally dim. “If I’d have known that it wasn’t his choice, I wouldn’t have pushed him to _end it_. He decided to commit suicide because _I_ told him to leave his, his boyfriend!”

“I didn’t think it was my place to say,” Schultz said, looking harried. “I didn’t know for certain. Maybe it was a mistake not to tell you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The Big Shot isn’t going to kill himself, and General Adler isn’t going to be a problem for much longer.”

While not completely mollified by the partial unspoken apology, Hilda had to concede his point: what he hadn’t told her didn’t matter anymore. However, there was just one other thing that he still hadn’t explained. “Because he’s flying away. That’s what Hogan told you, right?”

Schultz crossed his arms and, when he spoke, he sounded a bit cross as well. “I told you all I know about that.” Then he frowned slightly. “Well, that was all I knew when I told you about it.” This time, he didn’t force her to ask. “Colonel Klink believes that General Adler is going to disappear tonight, and I think that he and Colonel Hogan are working together to make that happen.”

“They’re working together?” Hilda found this rather difficult to believe, but she didn’t think that Schultz was lying now—he tended to lie by omission, when he could. “Does Hogan know something about all this?”

Schultz’s shoulders slumped. “Please, Fraulein, we have to go to camp. I don’t wish to be away too long.”

So, Hogan _did_ know something. She should have _known_ that he knew more than he was saying: Hogan _always_ knew what was going on around Stalag 13. Well, she’d have some words for _him_ next time she saw him! For now, though, she decided to take pity on the Sergeant. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about what Hogan knew, and she had plenty to think about already. “Why do I need to come back to camp?”

The relief on Schultz’s face was almost palpable. “There was an escape three nights ago, but the Kommandant never got around to writing the report for it. He needs the report written, because he needs an excuse to take a prisoner out of camp. He needs _you_ to do it, because,” he looked uncomfortable again, “he’s pumped full of morphine, and he doesn’t think he’ll be back to himself soon enough to write the report himself.”

Hilda didn’t like the sound of that. First drinking himself into a stupor and now this? She supposed it was silly to wonder if the suicidal man was trying to make himself ill. Still, it was difficult to feel angry with him for doing that to himself now that she understood what he was running away from. It couldn’t be a long term solution, though. He had to know that. “I don’t suppose you brought a form here for me to fill out.”

Taking Schultz’s chagrined expression as a ‘no’, she smiled to show that she wasn’t upset. It wouldn’t be so bad to check in with the Kommandant personally. And to apologize for what she’d assumed, for what she’d said. “All right, Sergeant, let’s get going then.”

The trip back to Stalag 13 was as silent as the trip to her house had been, but the atmosphere was more comfortable. She stared out the window and spent some time digesting everything she’d heard, trying to decide what it meant. Trying to decide what she did with that information now that she had it.

She’d never been raped. Her first employer had never taken it that far. But she did know that fear. She knew what it was like to be eaten with someone’s eyes. What it was like to be touched when she had no desire to be touched. The last time she’d entered that office, she’d felt the sick terror of being trapped in a corner. Being kissed by someone she didn’t want to be kissed by.

It had only been luck that someone had come in before it had gone farther than that. She’d quit that day. No amount of money had been worth _that_.

Her current boss … he hadn’t been so lucky. And quitting clearly hadn’t been an option.

She’d felt on firmer footing when she’d thought he’d had lousy taste in men. It was terrible to see someone in a bad relationship, but a bad relationship could be broken. There was advice she could give. What sort of advice could she give a man who was being raped? It wasn’t as though he could report it. She was clever enough to know what would happen then.

Even if he _could_ report it without getting himself in trouble, there was whatever Adler was holding over his head as well. No wonder he’d thought the only way he could ‘end it’ was to end his life!

Hilda watched the landscape pass her by sightlessly. She remembered asking Hogan if smiling was _all_ she could do to help. It certainly seemed as though that was all she could do. But, knowing what she knew now, she wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to manage _that_. While she was a fine actress, she wasn’t nearly good enough to pretend that nothing had changed, to smile brightly as though nothing was wrong when so much was wrong.

Besides, she wanted to be there for him, if he needed her to be. She didn’t want to be completely closed off, hiding behind a false smile.

But letting her own grief show wouldn’t make him feel any better. How selfish would it be to burden him with her feelings when he probably had more than enough burdens to deal with already? And you couldn’t pity a man—they never took it well. It was as though admitting that they were human made them less manly or something foolish like that.

So, just how _did_ she treat him now? They still weren’t friends. They still weren’t close. And, as much as she felt for him because of what he was going through, the Colonel probably wouldn’t appreciate her pity. She had no idea how to act, and she didn’t know how she was going to face him after what she’d assumed.

She should have recognized what she’d seen for what it was. She should have realized that there had been more wrong than a poorly chosen relationship. She should have been able to understand the terror she’d seen in his eyes when she’d felt something similar to it herself.

Hilda closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She hadn’t brought her make-up with her, Schultz being in such a hurry to leave, and she wouldn’t be able to fix it if she made a mess of herself. Even if she didn’t think she’d be able to maintain it for long, she was determined to meet the Kommandant with a cheerful face.

* * *

When Schultz and Hilda arrived at the office building, they were greeted by a frantic Corporal Langenscheidt.

“Sergeant,” he exclaimed, “thank God you’re here!”

“What’s the matter?” Schultz demanded.

Langenscheidt took a deep breath. “I think there might be something wrong with the Kommandant. He came out a little while after you left, complaining about being bored, and he made me go out and find some playing cards. I had to borrow some from the prisoners. And then he made me play some bizarre card game with him. And _then_ he kept falling asleep while we played. I left him about twenty minutes ago, and he was sleeping.” He shook his head. “I know Hogan said he was ill, but this seems serious!”

As the younger guard had been speaking, Schultz had looked less and less alarmed. “I think he is only tired, Corporal,” he suggested in a way that allowed no argument.

Langenscheidt seemed incredulous, to say the least. “I’ve seen the Kommandant ‘tired’, Sergeant. This is _not_ how he behaves.” He was frowning, suspicious. “Colonel Klink has been acting strangely for days now.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Schultz said firmly. “Having to deal with that Gestapo general so long would be enough to make anyone act a little crazy.”

While it was clear that Langenscheidt didn’t believe this, it seemed that he understood that pushing would yield no answers. “Of course.” Then he straightened smartly. “Do you want me to stay here?”

There seemed to be a challenge there, but Hilda didn’t understand what it was if there was. She suddenly felt bad for Langenscheidt. He was in the same place she’d been: seeing that something was wrong but not knowing what that something was. However, as much as she sympathized with his frustration, having shared it herself, she knew that she couldn’t give him the answers he wanted.

Schultz considered it. “I want you to check on the fence near Barracks 8. Then go to the mess and pick the Kommandant up something for lunch.”

A sharp nod. “Yes, Sergeant.”

As soon as he was gone, Hilda looked to Schultz. “What will we do about Langenscheidt?”

Sighing, Schultz shook his head. “I don’t know. I hope I can put him off long enough for it not to matter.” He offered Hilda an apologetic half-shrug. “The Big Shot doesn’t want too many people to know about this, you know.”

“I understand.” And she did. It was just difficult being the one in the position of pushing people away. She sat down at her desk and found the forms she needed. Uncapping her pen, she looked up at Schultz. “Tell me what you want this to say.”

Filling out the paper work and writing up the report about the escape hadn’t taken long—Schultz had been brief and the details she’d been given had been sparse. Once she’d been satisfied with her handiwork, she signed the Kommandant’s name and placed it on the desk along with the other papers that would be mailed out tomorrow. “If I’m asked, I can say I forgot to file it,” she said.

Schultz nodded, distracted. “Good.” Then he offered her a smile that didn’t cover up his anxiety. “The Big Shot said he wanted to see you after you were finished with the report.”

Why did he seem unhappy with the idea? “Why do you look unhappy about it?”

He frowned, probably at her bluntness. “The Kommandant is not himself right now. I don’t know why he wants to see you, and I don’t know what he’s going to do or say.”

“I’m sure I’ll be all right, Sergeant,” she said easily. “You’re going to be with me, aren’t you?”

A slow nod. “Of course, but—”

“Then there’s nothing to be worried about,” Hilda interrupted firmly. “Let’s go.”

In truth, though she strode confidently over to the door to the Kommandant’s office, she had a fair amount of trepidation at the prospect of seeing the Colonel now that she knew what she knew. While she dearly wanted to apologize for her assumptions, she was uncertain how that apology would be received. She still hadn’t decided how she should act, and she had no plans on what to say beyond ‘Hello’.

Still, there was nothing else for it. Swallowing down her nervousness, she resolutely opened the door before she could lose her nerve to.

“Fraulein!” the Kommandant greeted, his voice booming with enthusiasm, as she and Schultz entered his office. “I’m so glad you could make it.” His smile was bright, as were his eyes.

“Ah, hello, Kommandant.” Although she’d been warned that her boss was drugged, she was still startled by the happy greeting. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him this joyful. Surprised and at a loss for what else to say, she said, somewhat lamely, “H-how are you?”

“As well as can be expected,” he said, the somber words a poor fit for the light tone. “No doubt I’ll feel worse once the morphine wears off, but I’m enjoying myself right now.” He cocked his head at her. “I trust that Schultz spoke to you about my, ah, circumstances, yes?”

Hilda felt her heart constrict in her chest. His circumstances. As though he were talking about his work or something harmless like that. “Yes,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath: desperately trying to keep her emotions under control but wanting to say what she need to. “I’m sorry, Colonel.”

He looked puzzled. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Was he serious? No, he had to know what she was talking about. She supposed it was only fair that he was trying to make her suffer a little. She supposed she owed him a more detailed apology anyway. Her throat felt tight and her eyes burned. “I’m sorry I assumed what I did—I didn’t understand _anything_ and, and _those things_ I said to you!”

Klink now looked alarmed, but in an almost comical man-confronted-with-a-crying-woman sort of way.

Which made sense, she supposed, since she was crying. Hilda wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, annoyed with herself for making a scene but unable to stop.

He stood up and came from around the desk, shaking his head and smiling fondly. He stopped short and held out his arms. “Come here.”

After a brief hesitation—this was a bit irregular after all—, she came close enough to him so he could hug her, if that’s what he wanted to do.

He did. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her face to rest on his shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to be sorry, Fraulein,” he said, his tone light. “How were you supposed to know what was going on when I wouldn’t tell you?” Not waiting for an answer, he went on. “Nothing you said hurt me; it meant a lot to me that you were so eager to help.”

Hilda didn’t want to let herself off the hook so easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to be disrespectful enough to reject his forgiveness. “Thank you.” She gave him a tentative hug in return before stepping away from him.

Klink’s smile was still bright. “I’m sorry for chasing you away before.”

There was no question of what she was going to say now. “Forgiven,” Hilda said, returning a slightly watery version of the smile. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Klink said with a grin. Then he turned to Schultz. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

Schultz saluted. “Yes, sir. Corporal Newkirk is in the cooler, and Fraulein Hilda wrote the report before coming in to see you.”

Klink clapped his hands together. “Excellent, excellent. General Adler will be in for a surprise.” He seemed surprised himself when he yawned. Shaking his head, he giggled. “I haven’t had to take this many naps since I was an infant. I’ll be in my quarters if anyone needs me.”

“You don’t want anything to eat?” There was no mistaking the concern in Schultz’s voice.

“I’m not even slightly hungry,” Klink said, laying his hand on Schultz’s arm. He leaned in close, his expression teasing. “If I feel like eating, you will be the _first_ person I tell.” Taking his hand back, he turned to Hilda. “Do you want to go home again?”

Hilda had to laugh. “I think I’d rather stay here for a while; I’ve been in a car most of the day now, Kommandant.”

He smiled sleepily at her. “Well, good.” A mock bow. “I shall see you later then, I’m certain.” Turning away from both she and Schultz, he entered his quarters.

Hilda looked to Schultz. But, before she could speak, a knock on the door startled both of them.

The door opened to reveal Corporal Langenscheidt awkwardly balancing a plate of food on one hand. “The fence near Barracks 8 looks secure,” he said stiffly as he let go of the doorknob to hold the plate with both hands. He looked around the office. “Is the Kommandant still sleeping?”

“Yes,” Schultz lied, sounding annoyed. He took the plate from the younger guard. “I’ll leave this in his quarters for him.”

“Shall I go back to the front office?” The tone was not insubordinate—Langenscheidt would _never_ be insubordinate—but deeply unhappy. Perhaps even hurt. Hilda knew that Schultz had taken the younger man under his wing in a way, so being so obviously left out must be hard for him.

Still, what else was there to do? She couldn’t go against the Kommandant’s wishes in this matter, could she? Even if she were willing to do _that_ and even if Schultz let her get away with it, there was no telling how the Corporal would react to the news. She hated to admit it, but perhaps she’d been too hard on Schultz for the ‘it’s not my place to say’ stance he’d taken for not telling _her_ anything.

It seemed that Schultz felt a bit guilty for his part in Langenscheidt’s mood; at least, his expression had softened to make him look a bit guilty. “I want you to stay here, Corporal,” he said kindly. “The Kommandant is still tired, and I’d like you to be nearby in case there’s a problem.”

Langenscheidt relaxed slightly. “Yes, Sergeant.” He hesitated. “Do you expect there to be a problem?”

“I hope not,” Schultz sighed. “I hope not.” He turned away from them and walked into Klink’s quarters.

“Fraulein?”

Hilda looked at Langenscheidt and hoped her smile was unconcerned. “What is it?”

He was looking at her with concern. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”

Her eyes went wide before she could control her reaction. She inwardly cursed even as she tried to look innocent. “I’m fine, Corporal. I just, I wasn’t paying attention, and I stubbed my toe on my desk.” She forced herself to chuckle. “I really stubbed it hard—I cried just like a baby!”

His skepticism was plain, but he didn’t contest her story. “You should probably see the camp doctor to make sure none of your toes are broken, if you hit them that hard.”

Hilda nodded, trying to appear grateful for the advice. “If it still hurts later, I’ll probably do that.”

His brow furrowed with indecision before he bowed his head. “I know that something is going on,” he said quietly. “I know it’s something to do with the Kommandant. Sergeant Schultz can tell me that there’s nothing to be worried about until he’s blue in the face, but I won’t believe it.” He brought his head up to look at her with sad eyes. “I suppose, if I ask you, _you’ll_ tell me there’s nothing to be worried about, too.”

That was all she _could_ tell him. If only she’d thought to include him in the loop, then he’d be with them now. As it stood, it was too late. She hated to be parroting the same excuse she’d hated from Schultz, but it was true: it _wasn’t_ her place to say. The only way Langenscheidt would be let into the loop now was on Schultz’s or Klink’s say so. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him such a transparent lie either. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “I am, too.” His attempted smile was weak at best. “Thank you for being honest with me, even if you won’t say what the matter is.”

“I’m sorry,” Hilda said again, unable to think of anything else to say. She could feel herself coming close to that point of no return, and she hurried out of the Kommandant’s office, closing the door perhaps too hard behind her. New tears welled in her eyes, and she let them fall. It was too late for her make-up anyway.

She’d never had a secret that had been so painful to keep.


	60. Soberling Realizations

While not as terrible as the one he’d had after his drinking binge, Klink’s headache once he’d sobered up had been, as Hogan would no doubt have put it, a beaut. A glass of water had proved enough to clear up that problem, but it hadn’t done anything for the dizziness that came whenever he moved too quickly. And he knew why: even though he felt uninterested in food, he could feel that gnawing emptiness that signaled he’d gone too long without it. All he needed now was to faint!

The lunch that Schultz had left for him had gone cold and had seemed overwhelming anyway. Deciding that something light and insubstantial might be a good compromise, Klink had retrieved his cookies from their hiding place—with Schultz and certain kleptomaniac prisoners around, hiding places for this sort of thing were necessary. After setting a few on a plate, he sat down at the table and started slowly eating them.

Unfortunately, worrying about whether or not the offering would be rejected was not enough to distract him from his turbulent thoughts.

He wished that he hadn’t been awake as the morphine wore off. Noticing his perceptions shift from that blissful high back down to what had become ‘normal’ for him had been a profoundly depressing experience. _Of course_ , he thought as he nibbled half-heartedly on his second cookie, _if I’m going to start making wishes, there are better ones I could make_. He wouldn’t mind another dose or two of morphine, for one thing.

A fine wish except for the probable addiction that would result. He’d flirted briefly with morphine in his youth, and he knew that no good would come of returning to that relationship. He’d been lucky that he’d stopped when he had _then_. He didn’t need an addiction to a narcotic on top of everything else _now_! Feeling a flash of disgust with himself for even considering it, he bowed his head.

He was grateful that Sergeant Wilson had taken the remainder of the drug with him when he’d left. Even knowing what a horrible idea it was, Klink knew that he’d be far too tempted to take more if given the chance.

Still, it had been wonderful. The dose he’d been given had lasted around three and a half hours—the parts of that that he’d been awake for had been absolutely wonderful. The pain, terror, and self-loathing that seemed to define his life these days had been completely absent. Ironically, he’d felt so much more in control then, when he’d been impaired, than he did now. As was usually the case when he was drunk too, now that he was thinking about it.

Not to say that he had no regrets. As was always the case when he was intoxicated, he’d done some things he regretted now that he was sober. Giving poor Corporal Langenscheidt yet more reason to doubt his commander’s sanity was one of those things. Talking to his subordinate while he’d been pumped full of morphine hadn’t been one of is brighter ideas. Probably, it also would have gone slightly better if he’d elected to play chess or poker rather than ‘Go Fish’. Although, the look of bewilderment on the young guard’s face the entire time they’d played _had_ taken care of his boredom rather nicely.

Before that, and more regrettably, he’d made a fool of himself in front of Sergeant Schultz and Colonel Hogan. His face went hot with the embarrassment he hadn’t felt at the time. Exposing himself to both Hogan and Schultz in the same day. The only thing that kept him from feeling completely mortified by that was the fact that both men knew what he’d been letting Adler do to him—compared with _that_ worrying about exposing himself to them was petty.

At least meeting with Fraulein Hilda hadn’t gone too badly, even if he _had_ made her cry. To think that he’d thought she and Schultz would abandon him if they knew the truth. Now that he could think clearly about what Hilda’s and Schultz’s continued loyalty to him meant, he had to admit his amazement. They were _still_ standing by him, knowing that he was letting Adler do what he was doing.

It made his heart swell with fondness for the both of them.

Sadly, that thought, that they were standing by him despite what he was letting Adler do, brought with it a less happy one: what he’d let Adler do. Or, more specifically, what Adler had done during his visit today.

Klink had realized some time during the process of sobering up that his resilience against Adler’s attentions had probably been due to the morphine rather than any act of his own will. It had been nice to think that his body had finally decided to react properly to Adler’s touch at last, but he couldn’t give himself that credit now that his mind had cleared.

It was just a wonder that all of his protests hadn’t earned him something bruising. True, Klink’s protests had been purely verbal, but Adler seemed to count the smallest things Klink did as resistance. He wondered how long Adler had tried to get a response from him after he’d fallen asleep. Part of him enjoyed the idea of Adler trying in vain to get some reaction, but most of him worried about what else Adler had done while he’d been sleeping.

A few possibilities sprang to mind. A shiver went through Klink, and he decided he was better off not giving it another moment’s thought. He set the half-eaten cookie on the plate, having lost what little appetite he’d had. Just as well, he did have a few other matters to attend to that he couldn’t avoid for much longer. Perhaps he’d work up an appetite.

Klink stood up and made his way to the stove. The fire inside had burnt down nearly to ashes since Schultz had stoked it up, but if he acted fast, he’d be able to save it. While the pain in his backside was still present as he squatted down in front of the door, it wasn’t as pronounced as it had been before Sergeant Wilson’s visit today. Although he couldn’t honestly say that the medic’s words had eased his mind, his body felt much improved. He was still sore, and he still limped a bit as he walked.

But he no longer felt broken.

One weight among the many on his back had been lifted away by the realization that he’d recover from what Adler had put him through. He hadn’t been so damaged that he was beyond repair. He would be able to walk away from this—literally! If he never moved with the ease of before, at least he was _moving_. If he had scars, they would only be skin deep and easily hidden. The important thing was that he would be able to function normally again without the omnipresent pain he’d felt earlier.

The idea of his eventual physical recovery brought with it another thought that he dared not dwell on: he didn’t want to jinx it. But maybe... maybe he would be able to _be_ normal again, too. Even being able to only _act_ normally would be welcome at this point. He’d be willing to settle for being able to, say, be in the presence of another man without wanting to flee in terror.

It felt like such a long time since he hadn’t been afraid without the help of a drug.

Satisfied with the state of the fire, Klink walked to his bedroom. The smell of stale sex would have been stomach turning without knowing the cause of it. Knowing the cause of it, his stomach flipped worryingly. Bile burnt the back of his throat when he took off the blanket to reveal the sheet beneath and the quiet confession of his complicity in off of this left there.

Doing his best to ignore his nausea, he squared his shoulders and did what he’d come to do. Stripping the bed hadn’t taken as long as folding the top and bottom sheets into a small, easily carried pile had. After a moment’s thought, he stripped off the pillow cases and set them on top of his sheets. The mattress would have to stay, of course, and the blanket. Looking around, he saw nothing else to take.

He gathered the sheets and pillow cases into his arms before walking back to the stove and kneeling down before it. He opened the stove door then hesitated. They hadn’t been cheap—while many things had been provided for him here, sheets with a high thread count hadn’t been one of them. He’d paid for these out of his own pocket.

He eyed the innocent looking white sheet set resting in his arms. They looked just like his other set of sheets. Once they were washed, once they were clean, they would appear no different from his other sheets. No one would be able to tell what these sheets had been a party to. Not even _he_ would be able to tell.

His hands shook as he hastily pushed the whole pile into the stove, smothering the flames. Coughing, he shut the door on the smoke. He watched the fire recover and the fabric burn through the tiny window. He watched until the cloth had been completely consumed by the blaze, feeling a sort of grim satisfaction at the proceedings. It was a waste of money to destroy them, but he felt that the cost of one set of sheets was well worth his peace of mind.

Klink hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of his time at Stalag 13 wondering if he were sleeping on those sheets.

* * *

“Just a bite, Kommandant,” Schultz coaxed.

It should have been galling, having his Sergeant here trying to get him to eat as though he were a child who refused to eat his vegetables. It should have been galling, but Klink couldn’t get angry—it was too ridiculous. That fact that this probably _was_ how Schultz got his children to eat vegetables just made it that much more ridiculous—he was _older_ than the man, for God’s sake.

“I’m not hungry,” Klink said honestly. There were far too many anxious butterflies in his stomach to try adding food to the mix. Perhaps, tomorrow, after Adler was gone, he’d feel like eating again. Probably overly optimistic, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to feel optimistic about anything for what felt like a long time, and he didn’t mind the change of pace.

Schultz frowned with almost parental disapproval. “When was the last time you ate a meal, sir?”

That was a good question. Klink had to give it some thought before arriving at an answer that Schultz was sure not to like. “I’m not hungry,” he repeated. What was the point in eating when he _knew_ that anything he ate now would just come back up? He might as well save himself the time and energy by just throwing the food in the bin to start with!

“You’re going to make yourself ill if you don’t eat,” Schultz complained, his displeasure plain.

 _And if I_ do _eat_ , Klink thought with dark humor, _I’ll make myself ill, too_. It was starting to get galling now. He didn’t need Schultz to tell him that skipping meals wasn’t good for him—how stupid did the Sergeant think he was?—, and he certainly didn’t need the guard to be his in loco parentis! “I’m not hungry.” Tired of repeating himself, he pushed the chair away from the table and stood, turning away from Schultz. “Eat it yourself if you think it needs eating.”

“You must eat something.”

Klink turned back to stare at the bigger man. Was it just his paranoia again, or had that statement actually been a threat? If it _had_ been a threat, what exactly did the man have in mind if Klink refused to eat? He shook his head. Schultz wasn’t threatening him—he couldn’t be. Still, Klink had to say _something_ , just to be sure. “I’m not hungry, Sergeant—are you planning to force feed me?” The attempted sarcasm was unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

Schultz looked more confused than anything. “Of course not, sir.” He put his hands into his pockets. “I hadn’t even thought of that.” He stood up straighter, a determined gleam in his eyes. “But you _do_ need to eat, and I will stand here all night, if I must, to make sure you do.”

The gleam in Schultz’s eyes suddenly seemed sadistic to Klink, and Klink had to stop himself from backing away. Even if the man _wasn’t_ planning to force food down his throat, this ultimatum wasn’t much of an improvement. Klink considered ordering the Sergeant to leave but found himself unable to do so. He wasn’t anxious to test whether or not the guard would follow orders; Klink wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control his panic if he confirmed that Schultz wouldn’t. He was having a hard enough time believing that the Sergeant meant him no harm as it was.

Maybe he could manage a few bites? Maybe that would be enough to appease the man? Klink didn’t want Schultz to become annoyed enough to do more than just stand there and wait, did he? He didn’t want the guard to run out of patience and decide to take things into his own hands. He didn’t want to find out if making him eat was _all_ the larger man would make him do.

Even as the faint voice of his rational mind told him that he was being incredibly foolish—that Schultz didn’t have a violent bone in his body, that the idea of Schultz actually laying a hand on him in anger was laughable, and that Schultz would not actually try to force him to eat or anything else—, Klink sat back down. Licking dry lips, he tried one last appeal. “It will make me vomit,” he said quietly, feeling close to doing so already.

The smile Schultz gave him was predatory as he took a step closer to where Klink sat. “It won’t,” he said with an encouraging tone. “You’ll feel better once you have something in your stomach.”

Like with so many things, the Sergeant didn’t know what he was talking about. Klink considered protesting that he ought to know his stomach better than _Schultz_ , but decided not to. It wouldn’t change anything, and he had no wish to antagonize the guard by arguing. He picked up his knife and fork and started cutting the stringy chicken into pieces. He wondered if he’d be able to fool Schultz into thinking he’d eaten some of it if he cut it into enough pieces before coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t work—as always when it came to food, Schultz was actually paying attention.

Finally, after reducing all of the food on his plate to tiny pieces, Klink ventured to put a bite’s worth into his mouth. It was tasteless, sitting on his tongue like soggy cement and just as appetizing. He chewed slowly until he could no longer stand the feeling and then swallowed. One bite down. His stomach seemed more or less undecided about the addition, but Klink felt exhausted by the process.

“That’s it, sir. Try a little more.”

Klink shoulders slumped. He should have known it would take more than that. Resigned, he repeated the arduous procedure again. He kept his eyes down, trying to keep control over his emotions. Humiliating. This was humiliating. If he could have gotten angry, it would have been better, but he felt too afraid, too beaten to feel self-righteous rage at being treated like a child. Another bite. And another.

“Sir?”

Startled at the unexpected interruption, Klink stopped mid-chew to stare up at the Sergeant.

The expression on Schultz’s face looked so much like concern that Klink could almost believe that it was real. “Sir, what’s the matter? Are you crying?”

Klink set down his fork and brought that hand up to his face. Huh. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started. Well, it wasn’t the first time Schultz had caught him crying. As it was impossible to feel any more humiliated than he did already, he merely wiped his face with the napkin beside his plate, not feeling much of anything at all.

“Kommandant?”

Swallowing the food in his mouth passed the lump that had formed in his throat was difficult but he managed it. “What do you want me to say?” he said, trying his best not to sound confrontational. He didn’t want to make Schultz angry, did he?

Frowning, Schultz stepped even closer, just close enough to touch. He examined the Kommandant in a way that made Klink shudder; the searching gaze looking for something that Klink did not want to guess at. Then Schultz’s eyes went wide with shock. “You really _are_ afraid of me.”

Klink blinked at the blunt accusation. What was he supposed to say to that? Denying something that was so plainly true seemed pretty foolish. He had nothing to gain and nothing to lose by confirming it. “Yes,” he admitted quietly, “I am afraid of you.”

Suddenly, Schultz looked like he was going to be sick. Backing away from Klink as though _Klink_ were the one who was terrifying, Schultz jammed his hands almost violently into his pockets. He was shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. I-I’ll leave right now, if you want me to!”

The bizarre behavior was enough to snap Klink from the fugue state he’d been falling into. “Schultz?” He sat up, wondering at this sudden shift in the Sergeant’s mood. “What’s the matter?”

Schultz gaped at him. “What’s the matter?” he echoed, almost shrilly. “I was only trying to help—I didn’t mean to _force_ you to eat! Why didn’t you dismiss me if you didn’t want to eat?” He shrugged helplessly. “That was what I expected you to do; that’s what you _usually_ do when you don’t want to listen to me.”

Relief washed over Klink at the rambling explanation. His paranoia had been wrong, once again, about the man standing in front of him. It had been a misunderstanding. A stupid misunderstanding. It was tempting to direct his anger at his own idiocy towards the guard but, in the face of Schultz’s obvious remorse, he couldn’t bring himself to be that harsh. After all, it wasn’t as though Schultz didn’t _try_ —the fact that the man’s hands were currently in his pockets spoke to that.

Ultimately, it wasn’t fair to expect Schultz to understand without any sort of explanation.

While it would be a lie to say that Klink was comfortable with the idea of laying bare his mental state to his subordinate, he liked the idea of playing this scene out again and again less. He had to make the attempt, at least, so, next time this happened, there would be someone else to blame besides himself. “Sit down, Schultz. Please.”

Hesitantly, Schultz went to the chair across from where Klink was sitting and sat down. He opened his mouth before shutting it again, evidently thinking better of whatever it was he’d been planning to say.

Which was fine: this would be difficult enough without preliminaries. Klink set his palms on his thighs, just in case they decided to do something to further embarrass him, and thought. How did he explain his problem without appearing completely insane? He couldn’t pretend that his fears had any rational basis. Still, whether they were rational or not, he’d committed himself to this already. He just had to hope that Schultz didn’t think _he_ needed to be committed, too.

“I’m afraid of you,” he admitted to his hands, unable to look Schultz in the eye, “but it’s not your fault that I’m afraid of you.” He glanced up long enough to take in Schultz’s still distraught face. “I don’t know how to explain it to you beyond saying that I’m just paranoid about everyone now.” He felt his lips turn up into a wry smile. “It’s not rational, and I know it’s not rational, but I can’t help it.”

Silence. “So, you thought … you thought I really _would_ force feed you?”

Klink nodded. There was no need to say that he’d feared more than that.

“But I would _never_ —”

“I know that,” Klink interrupted sharply, having expected the protest but still annoyed that it had come. What part of ‘it’s not rational’ didn’t Schultz understand? “I _know_ you wouldn’t do something like that, but it doesn’t _matter_.” How many times did he have to effectively say that he was crazy before Schultz understood? His hands formed into tight fists. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer for you. You can’t assume that I’m going to be rational. About anything. Do you understand?”

More silence. “I—I don’t think I do, Kommandant,” Schultz said, sounding almost timid. “But I will try to be more careful.”

Probably the best Klink could expect. His hands relaxed as he admitted to himself that he couldn’t blame Schultz for not understanding the nonsensical. His explanation hadn’t made sense to himself either. He’d sounded crazy.

“Kommandant?”

Of course, he’d known that already. The homosexuality alone was already a mental illness of sorts, but Klink thought he could live with that: Sergeant Wilson seemed pretty well-adjusted and logical despite _his_ illness. However, the paranoia was going to be the death of him if Klink couldn’t get some control over it.

“Kommandant?”

Control? If it weren’t so depressing, he’d laugh. He knew that Schultz was loyal to him, knew that Schultz was simply incapable of being like Adler, and he simply could not make himself believe it when it counted. If he couldn’t even control his paranoia around _Schultz_ , how was he _ever_ going to control it around anyone else? Somehow, he didn’t think Adler going to London was going to fix _that_ problem!

“Kommandant!”

Shaking his head, Klink looked up to find Schultz sitting across from him at the table, looking very concerned. “What are you doing here, Sergeant?” he asked brusquely, hiding his surprise under irritation.

Schultz’s brow furrowed with distress. “You don’t remember, Kommandant?” He took his hands out of his pockets and gestured to the plate of food that was sitting in front of Klink. “You were telling me—”

Seeing the plate brought it all back again. “—why I’m afraid of you,” Klink finished, feeling suddenly tired. He wondered if his wandering mind was a sign of oncoming senility or a symptom of his diseased brain. “I remember now. You told me you’d be careful.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to give himself some time to think of what to say. Gently. “I appreciate that, Schultz, but I’m sure that’s not going to work.” At the other man’s crushed look, he tried to smile reassuringly. “Don’t take it personally if I panic again; it doesn’t have anything to do with you in particular.”

The Sergeant’s smile was just as weak as Klink’s own. “Yes, sir.”

“I’d like you to leave now,” Klink said, returning his attention to his hands.

“Yes, sir.”

Klink waited until he heard the door to his office close before he allowed himself to sag in his seat. Would Schultz figure out what _else_ he’d been afraid of? It was tempting to think that the fat guard was too dim to piece that part of it together, but Klink couldn’t believe that. Over the last few days, he’d discovered that the Sergeant was smarter than he’d given the man credit for.

He hoped that the guard wouldn’t take it personally once he _did_ figure it out. In any case, Schultz knew now that Klink’s cups were well and truly out of the cupboard. Klink just wondered if realizing he was being insane made him better or worse off than not noticing it at all.

* * *

Taking another sip of the tea he was nursing, Klink watched the door to his office from his couch. While Adler had not given him a time, he couldn’t imagine that the General would wait much longer to leave camp. It was half-past seven, and it was only getting later.

Fairly soon, he would be leading Adler to the trap. It was disappointing that Adler would not die there, but Klink had made peace with the fact that Adler’s death was worth trading for his own life. While he doubted that the humiliation of being delivered to London would in any way resemble that which Adler inspired in him, it was satisfying to think of Adler as a prisoner: powerless and at the mercy of whomever Hogan was sending him to.

Thinking of Hogan made Klink’s chest constrict. He couldn’t even imagine how he was going to tell the Senior POW what he had to tell him. _How do you tell a man that you’ve used him as fantasy fodder? That you pretended you were kissing him?_ Tea splashed on Klink’s hand, and he set down the cup quickly before his trembling hands sent the rest of the liquid out of the cup.

He couldn’t imagine that Hogan would take it well, and he’d be right not to. Klink could think of no justification for what he’d done—all he had were excuses. Damning excuses. ‘I thought of you while I was kissing Adler because I wanted to pretend I was kissing a man I didn’t hate’ wasn’t exactly an explanation that made him seem normal. Judging by Sergeant Wilson’s pleas for secrecy, it was pretty clear that Hogan must not think much of homosexuals.

Even if Hogan didn’t mind _that_ part of it … Klink didn’t know if he’d be able to bear seeing the disgust in the American’s eyes once he told the man how he’d been used. Would Hogan even want to talk to him again after that? It seemed ridiculously optimistic to think so. Would Hogan try to hit him? After giving the idea some thought, Klink decided that he wouldn’t make a fuss if the Senior POW _did_ actually hit him. It would be no less than he deserved, after all.

He just _wished_ —

Klink blew out a slow breath, wanting to keep his temper for once. He could wish through to Saint Never’s Day and it wouldn’t make a difference. What had happened had happened and nothing could change what he’d done. Or what he had to do tomorrow. He just wondered which part would make Hogan angrier—that Klink had used him, or that Hogan had wasted so much time and effort to save someone as worthless as Klink.

He stared down at his hands. Still, it wasn’t as though there was any point in thinking about it now. Tonight and what would come after was what he needed to be concerned with. The American’s assurances and Klink’s own preparations aside, Klink knew that there would be an investigation once Adler went missing. He’d be interrogated. With any luck, it would be the sort of interrogation one could have expected _before_ the war, one without the threat of torture to hurry the process along.

At least he didn’t have to lie. All he had to do was say what happened. He could manage that.

He just hoped that Hogan’s scheme would work because, if Adler ended up dead at his hand, there would be so many more questions. Questions that he wouldn’t be able to give convincing answers to. Questions that might lead to other questions.

Klink stood too quickly at the thought and cursed. Even with Wilson’s stitching, he had to be more careful than that. Shaking his head, he ignored the pain. He just had to stop thinking for a while. Adler would come when he came; what would happen would happen; and there wasn’t much he could control about it.

And he knew just the thing to take his mind off of this mess. It required a trip to his office but with Langenscheidt already off duty, he saw no reason not to stay.

Tucking the violin under his chin, he began to play. Klink knew that his abilities were not concert level, but he still enjoyed creating music. The sound of the bow scraping across the strings, the way the smallest change in movement changed the note. Holding an instrument that had been crafted with care by a master filled him with awe.

He felt himself smile as he continued to play. The deal he’d made with Adler had changed so much about him. It had made him see himself in ways he’d never wished to. It made him realize parts of him that he never knew existed—shameful parts. It had destroyed his peace of mind and his self image. Ultimately, it would lose him his not-even-really-a-friendly-acquaintance as well. But Adler hadn’t managed to take _this_ away from him.

Perhaps there were other things that Adler’s deal hadn’t managed to destroy.

The door slamming shut broke him from his reverie, eliciting a screech from the violin.

Adler was standing in front of the door from the front office, smiling. “Good evening, Wilhelm. A little night music?”

“Ah, yes, General, I mean, Josef,” Klink sputtered, scrambling to return the violin back to its case. “I-I didn’t know when you were coming.”

Still smiling, Adler approached. “I didn’t know you liked to play.”

Klink wasn’t certain what to make of the statement, but he _was_ certain that he didn’t trust that smile. “I-it’s just a hobby of mine,” he said, trying to sound casual as he finished latching the case shut.

Adler chuckled. “No need to be nervous; I was only curious.” He set his hand down to cover Klink’s resting on the case. “You can play me a song when we get back.”

“Of course,” Klink mumbled, wanting to rip his hand out from under Adler’s but knowing how bad an idea it would be.

“Have you taken your medicine tonight?”

“No, I haven’t.” Then, remembering, “Josef.” Klink had decided, with so many specifics he didn’t know about Hogan’s plan, he was better off having as many wits about him as possible now that he no longer needed the Eukadol just to _walk_. He just hoped that this was the answer Adler had been looking for.

Apparently it was for Adler embraced him gently, lightly touching his back. “Then you can drive us.” The kiss wasn’t as gentle, his tongue demanding entrance.

Wearily, Klink relaxed as much as he was able. This would be one of the last kisses he’d have to endure—this time, it really would be. This would end tonight, one way or the other, but however it ended, Klink would never have the swine’s tongue in his mouth again. He clung to that thought as the kiss deepened and Adler’s hold on him tightened. Dull pain flared in his back in response, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been in the morning. He could bear it.

At length, Adler broke the kiss and gazed at him in what looked like but couldn’t possibly be affection. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’ve finally decided to be reasonable?”

“Yes, you have, Josef,” Klink said, dismayed by how easily the name came out this time.

Another kiss. “It’s a shame that you need a rest,” Adler whispered huskily, still holding him close, close enough for Klink to feel his excitement, “because I’d like to take you right here, right now.”

This sounded a little too familiar. Before he could stop himself, Klink tried to pull away. “B-b-but you said—”

Adler held fast, laying his head on Klink’s shoulder. “I won’t break my promise, Wilhelm. I’ll let you rest.” His tone was tired and tinged with frustration. “You should be glad that I want you so much. Aren’t you _pleased_ I’d rather have _you_?”

Klink recoiled in disgust at the thought, but Adler’s hold kept him in place. Was he supposed to _appreciate_ Adler’s attention? Was he supposed to be happy that the swine wanted to defile him? Adler couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to believe that, could he? “Yes, Josef,” he said dutifully, trying to hide the hatred he felt.

“Yes, what?” Adler turned his head so his lips brushed against the side of Klink’s neck. “Be precise.”

The feeling sent an unpleasant shiver down Klink’s spine. Why did Adler keep making him say these things? What was the purpose? It didn’t matter what the reason was—this would end tonight. “I’m … I’m pleased that you, that you,” his stomach twisted and his throat tightened, “that you want me.”

Adler lifted his head to look Klink in the face. “You don’t mean it yet, but that’s all right.” He kissed Klink lightly. “Things will be so much easier for you once you accept your place.” Then he gave Klink a squeeze. “But we should get going or else I’m liable to forget myself.” He ran his hands down Klink’s sides as he released Klink from the embrace. “I’ll have a car brought around.” Patting Klink’s cheek, he smiled. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Klink watched Adler leave and tasted bile. His breath was caught in his throat and his body quaked. His hands trembled as he pulled on his coat. His fingers fumbled, making the simple task of pushing the buttons through the corresponding holes more difficult than it should have been. Why was he shaking? The worst was over now, wasn’t it? If all went to plan, all he would have to do now was drive.

He hesitated at the door. If it all went to plan... Then he remembered what else Hogan had told him. Quickly, he stalked back over to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He retrieved the Luger from its hiding place, made sure that it was not cocked, and deposited it in his coat pocket. He patted the lump there nervously. With any luck, it would not be noticed. He tried not to think about the fact that luck had been a scarce commodity for him these days.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place wasn’t easy under the circumstances, but he did the best he could. Head held high, he left his office behind. The time had come to take care of General Adler once and for all. The time had come for this to end. Three men would leave camp tonight, and only two would return.

Klink just hoped, as he walked out into the cold air, that the two returning would be he and the Englander corporal.


	61. Not to Plot

Hogan had to hand it to Newkirk: when the Englishman wasn’t interested in discussion, he was good at sequestering himself away. Naturally, Hogan could still go to the cooler and speak to Newkirk through the bars if he wanted to force the issue, but there was nothing left to say at this point: banging his head against a wall would be a better use of his time and less of a headache, besides.

Kinch had left with the Simeons almost an hour ago to make sure that they’d have time enough to get into position. With any luck, Kinch’s presence would be enough to keep the Simeons from backing out. For everyone’s sake, Hogan certainly hoped that the Simeons kept their part of the bargain: he hadn’t been lying when he’d told LeBeau that he’d make the Simeons regret it if they didn’t.

But there was nothing more Hogan could do about that situation now but wonder how long they’d have to wait before Klink and Adler arrived. It was already 2030, and Hogan couldn’t imagine what Adler was waiting for. He would have thought, and he did so with reluctance, that the General would want as much time as possible for what he had planned.

Watching and waiting weren’t activities Hogan especially enjoyed but, as he watched for some sign of something actually happening outside his window besides Schultz milling around, he knew that he had to at least see Newkirk off. Knowing what time they left would also help him sort out how long they should be gone. Assuming all went as planned.

Finally, his patience was rewarded as a staff car pulled up in front of the office building. He’d wondered at someone coming to visit at this time of night but then, seeing Adler emerge from the driver’s side, he’d realized that this was what he’d been waiting for. He watched Adler gesture to Sergeant Schultz.

Clearly, Schultz was unhappy, but he made no obvious argument. While the Sergeant was off doing whatever he’d been ordered to do, Klink exited the office building. His head was held high and his limp was not terribly noticeable as he approached where Adler stood. It was only after he’d come to a stop beside Adler that his confidence seemed to leave him. His hands were sunk deeply into his pockets and his shoulders slumped in response to whatever Adler was telling him.

Newkirk’s hands were already cuffed in the front when Schultz led him to Adler and Klink. Adler made a face and gestured sharply at the Corporal. The reluctance in Schultz’s almost sluggish movements was plain as he took off Newkirk’s handcuffs only to put them back on with the Englishman’s hands behind his back.

Adler pointed imperiously to the back of the staff car, and Schultz opened the door so Newkirk could get inside. Once he was inside, Schultz shut the door.

Klink’s gait was unsteady as he made his way to the driver’s side.

Adler went to the other side of the staff car to sit behind the driver.

Moments later, the staff car was gone, leaving a very nervous looking Schultz behind.

Hogan watched Schultz pace in front of the office building for a while, almost surprised by how tense the other man seemed. Almost, because, while Schultz’s and Klink’s relationship prior to Adler had been semi-antagonistic, Schultz had proven since that he actually cared about what happened to that man. The fact that Schultz had stayed quiet about whatever suspicions he had, the fact that he’d come to Hogan for help, told Hogan that much.

Turning away from the window to leave the German guard to his pacing, Hogan sat down on his bunk. He had not had much time, with everything he’d had to attend to, to think too deeply about the decision he’d made. But now, now that Kinch was gone with the Simeons and Newkirk and Klink were gone, Hogan had little else to do for the next several hours _but_ think. There would be a roll call fairly soon, if Schultz remembered to do one in the state he was currently in, but worrying about his alibi was not much of a distraction for him.

According to Baker, if not for the fact that Adler was scheduled to be transported to London tonight, Adler would have been returning back to Berlin tomorrow morning. Wasn’t it always that way? Why couldn’t Burkhalter have contacted Berlin earlier? While the Luftwaffe general’s name hadn’t come up, the man from Berlin had mentioned that there had been a complaint about the amount of time Adler had been spending at Stalag 13—that it wasn’t ‘a resort’.

Better late than never?

Well, not in this case. This was ‘too little too late’! Even if Berlin had demanded Adler leave _tonight_ , it would still be too late for Hogan. The bridge had been burned, completely and utterly, and there was no way to rebuild it.

Hogan didn’t regret telling the Kommandant what he’d told him because he didn’t regret the fact that Klink would survive this, but, in all honestly, he would have rather waited. He’d always known that he would have to tell Klink about what he could do here—to secure the camp once the Germans surrendered or once the Allies invaded in earnest—, but he certainly hadn’t planned on telling him so soon.

Security-wise, it was a nightmare. While he hadn’t given the German many specific details, what he’d shown him was more than damning enough should Klink have any inclination to end Hogan’s activities permanently. Not that Hogan would let that happen, of course. However, it would be unpleasant, after everything, to have the Kommandant become a loose end to be tied up. Or blown up, as the case may be.

Hogan wouldn’t have told him at all if he hadn’t believed Klink when he’d said that he wouldn’t have Hogan shot for trying to save his life. The problem was that just because Klink was willing to keep quiet about what he knew now, it didn’t mean that he always would be willing. And, even if he _was_ always willing, that didn’t mean he would be _able_ to when the situation got tight. To put it bluntly, if there ever was a weak link, it was the old Iron Eagle!

A frown twisted his mouth as he lay down on the bunk. That wasn’t fair. Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t even swear that it was true. Maybe it would have been true of the old Klink, but this new Klink … he _looked_ frail and, in many ways, he clearly _was_ frail, but he was made of something stronger than Hogan had ever expected. If Hogan had been told a week ago that Colonel Klink, the Iron Chicken himself, would end up enduring a whipping for the sake of his prisoners’ safety that left him bloody and unconscious, he wouldn’t have laughed—the image would not have appealed to him that way—but he’d have found the idea amusing for its sheer impossibility.

But that was exactly what had happened, and Hogan didn’t feel even a little amused. Not only because he found nothing funny about what he’d seen the night before, but also because it meant that Hogan had not known the Kommandant as well as he’d thought.

What _else_ had he been wrong about? And how had he ever managed to miss _this_?

Despite his labeling of pre-Adler Klink as ‘old Klink’ and post-Adler Klink as ‘new Klink’, Hogan did not truly believe that Klink had become a different man. From what the man in question had said himself, it was plain that _Klink_ thought so, but Hogan didn’t agree. Stressful situations could change the way a person behaved—he’d seen enough men crack under pressure to know that _that_ was true—but a man didn’t suddenly become a completely different man unless a very unlucky knock to the noggin was involved. If the Kommandant had received such a knock, Wilson would have noticed some sign of it during his examination last night.

So, no, Klink had not become a different man. This part, this strength that Hogan had never noticed, must have always been there. Maybe it wasn’t until now that Klink had had to call on it. Perhaps Klink himself hadn’t realized he’d possessed this quality before now: the way he’d spoken when Hogan had mentioned his bravery with Adler the night before seemed to suggest that.

And Klink had been brave. Hogan knew that, whatever else he called the man, he could never call him a coward again. It was almost funny, in a morbid sort of way, to think this about someone who couldn’t bear a hand on the shoulder without visibly wanting to flee, but it was true all the same.

Hogan just wished that the cost of discovering this new facet of the Kommandant hadn’t been so high for Klink. ‘Times that try men’s souls’ and all that was pretty language, but the reality was fairly ugly in this case. As much as Hogan valued the new-found respect he’d found for Klink, he’d trade his insights in an _instant_ if there were a way to make it so Adler had never happened.

But he couldn’t, and Hogan wasn’t one to spend much time bemoaning mistakes of the past. It was the present and the future that he had to be concerned with now. He had set everything in motion for the present; the only thing that remained to do as far as that went was to wait and see how it turned out. With Kinch there to ride herd on the Simeons, Hogan thought he could feel confident in tonight turning out well.

As for the future... He couldn’t even pretend to believe that everything could go back to the way it had been before. He couldn’t imagine that Klink would be content to let business as usual be conducted under his nose. Would Klink demand explanations? Would he ask Hogan to stop? Would he want to help?

Well, if Klink wanted to help, he’d have to learn how to lie better. An amusing image of Klink sitting in a classroom taking furious notes as Hogan detailed lying techniques on a chalkboard came to mind. Giving the idea of attempting to teach the Kommandant how to lie some serious thought, Hogan decided that it probably wouldn’t work: Hogan’s abilities were innate.

Even in the best case scenario, where Klink agreed to pretend that nothing had changed, Hogan didn’t think _he_ could proceed as though nothing had changed. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he’d be using Klink as he had in the past. There had been times when he’d done some pretty crummy things to the Kommandant to accomplish what had needed to be accomplished. While he didn’t regret doing those things—the ends had been important enough to justify the means—, he didn’t know if he’d be able to treat the man so callously after seeing Klink go through what he was going through.

All of which assumed that Klink would return to something like normal. It was a fairly big assumption to make, he had to admit. If Wilson was right, Klink might not be anything like his old self again for a long time. It didn’t help that it would fall on Hogan to get Klink sorted out.

And it didn’t help that the help Klink would require didn’t call on Hogan’s strengths. Short term manipulation of people’s feelings to get what he wanted from them? He could do that in his sleep. Long term rebuilding of a shattered outlook? He had no idea where to even _start_ with that. It wasn’t often that Hogan truly worried about making a mess of things: he relied pretty successfully on his quick wit and charisma to pull him out of any SNAFUs that came up.

Here, he didn’t think it would matter how charismatic he was or how quick his wits were. Hogan often made decisions that risked the lives of his fellow soldiers as well as civilians, but he knew what he was doing when it came to those decisions. He could honestly say that he was well-suited to the task of being one of the leaders of the underground resistance. With Klink, though, it was like being given a bomb to defuse: if he did it wrong, someone would die who wouldn’t have died if the bomb had been given to an expert.

But maybe Wilson was wrong, and Klink didn’t have to be sorted out.

It still seemed unlikely that the Kommandant would just snap back from this Adler business just like that.

Naturally, all of _this_ assumed that whatever Klink had to tell him wasn’t the game changer Klink so clearly thought it was. If whatever it was actually turned out to be horrific enough for Hogan to regret helping the Kommandant, then worrying about the German’s mental state wasn’t likely to be high on Hogan’s list of concerns.

While he knew that he shouldn’t give anything that Adler said credence, Hogan couldn’t help but recall his own certainty that the General hadn’t been lying. Hogan was usually good at knowing when he was being lied to. Whether or not what Adler had said was actually true, he’d clearly believed that it was. The only problem with _that_ was that Klink was probably the least convincing liar Hogan had ever met.

Then again, as bad of a liar as Klink as, he hadn’t only managed to get Adler to believe that cock and bull story about getting help on his own last night but had also convinced the General that he’d spoken with Burkhalter and transferred Schultz. So, either Klink had finally figured out how to lie, or Adler had simply been that willing to be convinced.

This last was much easier to believe than either Klink suddenly becoming an accomplished liar or Klink _wanting_ to do the very thing that he’d seemed pretty damned determined to prevent.

But that left Hogan wondering what exactly it was that Klink had done which the German thought he’d disapprove so strongly of that he wouldn’t have wanted to save the man’s life. Knowing how moody Klink was now, it really could be anything. When Klink had shared his feelings last night, about how he had deluded himself into thinking that Hogan was his friend, he’d said that he didn’t want Hogan to hate him. Hate him for what? Nothing he’d said had warranted hatred on Hogan’s part.

It was entirely possible that Klink was making too much of whatever it was that he was worried about telling him. It was also entirely possible that Klink _wasn’t_ making too much of whatever it was—if the last few days had taught Hogan _anything_ , it had taught him the folly of making assumptions concerning that man. 

In any event, it was pointless to wonder. As he’d told Kinch, he’d be getting the answer from Klink himself in less than twenty-four hours. _Then_ he could decide whether or not Klink’s answer changed anything.

Sounds of shouting outside his room drew his attention from his thoughts, and Hogan sat up. He was unsurprised when Schultz entered his office. He was also unsurprised by his worried expression.

“Where is Sergeant Kinchole?” Schultz asked after he’d shut the door behind him.

Hogan considered the guard in front of him and decided to have mercy. “Kinch is helping me with the eagle problem right now.” He smiled encouragingly in the face of Schultz’s dismay. “He’ll be here in the morning, Schultz. Promise.”

Still frowning, Schultz nodded uncertainly. “All right, Hogan. I will report that everyone is accounted for.” Then he straightened up, “If Kinchole is not here in the morning—”

“He will be,” Hogan said easily. “You can count on it.”

“I hope so,” Schultz sighed. “I hope so.” He turned to leave before hesitating. “Do you know when they should be back?”

There was no need to ask who ‘they’ were. “I don’t,” Hogan said, seeing no reason not to be honest about that much. Then, reassuringly, “The Kommandant and Newkirk will be fine.”

It was difficult to tell whether or not Schultz believed him, seeing the man from the back, but the set of his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “I need to finish the Roll Call.”

Hogan smiled as he watched the guard leave. Alibi? Check. It was nice to have things go to plan.

* * *

Several hours later, Hogan wished that he hadn’t been so premature. He glanced at his watch, trying not to look like he was checking it again.

He failed.

“What time is it now?” LeBeau asked from where he sat next to the tunnel entrance, his expression closed beneath the greasepaint.

“0100,” Hogan said quietly.

“They’re awfully late,” Carter commented with concern. “Should we go out and look for them?”

Hogan summoned an easy smile. “Let’s give them a while longer before we send a rescue party.” His own worries about the Simeons aside, Kinch _was_ with them and they weren’t late enough yet to do as Carter had suggested. However, they would be that late far too soon for Hogan’s comfort. “Let’s give them an hour more.”

LeBeau yawned behind his hand. “ _Oui, Colonel_.” Then he cocked his head, his face lighting up. “I hear someone coming!”

Simon was the first to come down the ladder. Kinch was second. There was no third.

Hogan stood, foreboding coursing through his veins. “Where’s Adler?” he asked, certain that he wouldn’t like the answer.

He was right.


	62. Highway Men

While Adler had hinted in low tones what he’d planned on doing to the Englander Corporal before Schultz had brought Newkirk to the staff car, Klink hadn’t expected Adler to act on his urges before they actually arrived at their destination. Even when Adler had elected to ride in the back with the prisoner, Klink’s only thought was to thank God that Adler wasn’t going to be riding in the front with him.

He hadn’t even driven fully passed the gates out of Stalag 13 before Adler’s intentions became clear.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Klink glanced in the rearview mirror, feeling like an idiot for not realizing that this would happen. He could just see in the darkness Adler sitting there, his arm slung over the shoulders of the handcuffed Corporal Newkirk who looked equal parts disgusted and angry by this development. Surprise joined the other two emotions as Adler’s other hand came to rest on the prisoner’s lap.

Looking away, Klink wished he could block out Newkirk’s new protests as easily. Why had the man agreed to do this? It hadn’t been for _Klink’s_ benefit, surely? Guilt gnawed at his gut as he heard the prisoner’s protest cut short by what undoubtedly was a kiss. How could he have _ever_ agreed to let this happen to someone else?

Adler laughed as Newkirk swore a streak of colorful curses. “Ah,” Adler sighed happily, “this is a lively one you’ve found for me, isn’t it?”

Klink’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yes, he is,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He couldn’t let Adler abuse this man, too! He wouldn’t. If Hogan’s scheme didn’t work, he would not hesitate to use the pistol in his pocket.

“Get your hands off me! Get o—!”

Damn it, there had to be something he could do to stop this in the meantime! But what? An idea came to him, and he decided that there was little harm in trying it out. It might save the Corporal some groping—being the focus of Adler’s ire was worth that. “Josef?”

Adler broke the kiss. “What is it, Wilhelm?”

Klink took a deep breath to steady himself. It was unlikely that Adler would hit him while he was driving. “Could you, I mean, would you mind waiting until we,” he swallowed hard as his quick glances into the rearview mirror revealed an expressionless Adler, “get where we’re going? It-it’s distracting me.”

After a long, tense moment, Adler nodded. “Very well. I suppose it wouldn’t do to distract you.”

While he didn’t like the promise in Adler’s smirk as the man unwrapped his arm from the prisoner, Klink was pleased. It was a small victory and one that had probably come a little too late for Newkirk’s comfort, but it had come, hadn’t it? Another glance saw a silent Newkirk glaring out of the window, huddled as far from Adler as possible. New guilt layered on top of the old, but Klink knew that there was nothing more he could do for the Corporal now.

For the next twenty minutes or so, the only words spoken were curt directions from Adler. Apparently, their destination was at the end of Grafweg to a farmhouse that belonged to a Jan Hirsch. The name didn’t sound familiar to Klink, although, that wasn’t _so_ strange. After all, he could hardly be expected to remember the name of every single person in town! What _was_ strange, however, was that he didn’t recall ever hearing of _anything_ (farmhouse or otherwise) being up this road. He’d been told quite the opposite; that _nothing_ was at the end of this road. But perhaps he’d been mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time that _that_ had happened. 

So, he made no comment as he drove where Adler bid.

Grafweg was curvy and dark and each minute seemed to take them further from civilization and further into the woods. It became narrower and narrower as cracked pavement gave way to unplowed and dirty snow. The ruts in the snow suggested that others had also driven down this road since the last snowstorm but not with any sort of regularity.

Hogan had told him that they’d be waiting in ambush somewhere along the road to spirit Adler away. Klink’s grip on the wheel gradually tightened as the minutes passed with no sign of any reason for him to stop. _Perhaps_ , he thought with unease churning in his stomach, _perhaps it will be up to_ me _after all_.

No sooner had he thought this than he saw headlights. Dark figures were backlit; their features lost. Klink slowed down the car, his own headlight illuminating what turned out to be five young men in black uniforms standing in front of a parked truck. Four of them wore rifles slung over their shoulders. The one in the front held his hand up in front of him. Seeing no other choice in the matter, he let the car come to a stop. It was either that or run them over. 

Now that he could see them more clearly, he realized that the uniforms were SS. Klink felt an insane urge to laugh. As though he hadn’t been having _enough_ trouble with the Gestapo! But … what were they _doing_ all the way out here?

“Why have you stopped?” Adler demanded.

Before Klink could answer, one of the young men, a captain, knocked on the driver’s side window. Obligingly, he rolled the window down. “Can I, can I help you?” he asked.

The Captain regarded him with poorly disguised contempt. “There has been underground activity tonight so all the cars coming down this road are to be searched.”

Underground activity? Klink felt the blood drain from his face. Was this activity related to Hogan and his plan?

“On whose orders!” Adler shouted from the back.

“If you will get out of the car, I will be more than happy to show you my orders,” the Captain said disrespectfully. “However, now you must submit to be searched.”

Klink swallowed hard. He would not have enjoyed the prospect of being searched by the unfriendly man at the window before he’d met Adler; the prospect of going through this now... He shuddered but opened the car door. What choice did he have, really?

He heard the other door open and close as he stood up.

“What are you doing!”

Adler’s voice. Angry.

Suddenly, the Captain grabbed him, spinning him around and forcing him face first against the car’s hood. Blood pounded in Klink’s ears and the terror threatening to send his heart into his throat overwhelmed the slight pain of being slammed against the cold metal. “Wha-?”

The Captain twisted his arm sharply and the new pain took Klink’s breath away. “Shut up!” He backed up, pulling Klink away from the car before tossing him to the snow in front of the headlights. “Kneel!”

Shaking, Klink’s terror forced him to move even as his old injuries screamed. Within moments, Corporal Newkirk was forced to kneel down on his left and Adler was pushed down on his right. Adler’s mouth hung open and there was a dazed look in his eyes. Klink tore his gaze away from him to look right into the barrel of a pistol.

“Put your hands behind your heads!” the SS Captain yelled. “Now!”

Klink did so as quickly as his shattered nerves would allow. His mind raced. What was going on? Who were these people? What—?

Someone behind him grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back, cuffing him. Glancing over at Adler confirmed that they had done the same with the General. Newkirk was already in cuffs. The prisoner seemed strangely unconcerned. However, there was too much happening for Klink to think about how strange that really was.

Casually, the Captain slipped the Walther back into its holster and walked over to stand in front of Adler, who seemed to have come back to himself a bit. At least, the dazed look was gone. “You are General Joseph Adler, correct?”

Adler smiled slowly, his teeth red with blood. He spat on the Captain’s boot.

The Captain kicked him in the stomach, hard. “Are you General Josef Adler?” he repeated, his voice still calm.

Adler forced himself back up onto his knees, his smile still fixed. When he finally spoke, his words were slurred. “You don’t remember my face, Lieutenant Richter?”

The Captain’s expression flickered with surprise.

“Did you think I’d forget you, Lieutenant?” Adler asked, now grinning. “Ah, but you’re a captain now, aren’t you?” Blood dribbled down his chin as his grin widened. “Congratulations on your promotion—I’m glad to see that you put what I taught you to good use.”

“Are you General Josef Adler?” Richter asked again, his face still impassive but Klink could clearly hear the disgust the man felt in his voice. “You will answer the question.”

“Come now, Captain,” Adler said, teasing, “it’s been a long time, but not that long.” He bared his teeth. “I thought our last meeting was rather … memorable.”

Richter’s hand formed a white-knuckled fist at his side. “You shithead.” The words were quiet but full of rage. Then he seemed to snap, the impassiveness of before utterly shattered. He kicked Adler in the stomach again. And again. And then again. He pulled his leg back for another blow but stopped when one of the other SS men, a corporal, put a hand on his arm.

“You’ll get blood on your uniform, sir,” the Corporal said simply.

Richter hesitated before nodding curtly. “You’re right.” The words were clipped. Then he turned his attention back to Adler, his face hard. “Back on your knees, swine,” he snarled, slipping the slim pistol from its holster again. “Back on your knees before I shoot you on the ground like the worm you are.”

Slowly, Adler drew himself back up. His grin was wide although some of the apparent bravado was obviously from the pain. He was chuckling—a wet, raspy sound. “I, I understand it now.” He looked up at the Corporal who had spoken and inclined his head. “I thought I recognized you, Herr Hirsch.” He showed his bloody teeth to the Captain. “Well, you, you have me here,” he said, panting and contemptuous. “What, what happens now?”

“Now?” Richter brought the Walther up and pointed it between Adler’s eyes. “Now, you die.”

The pistol was loud; the sudden crack of the retort made Klink’s ears ring. He’d closed his eyes against the noise and opened them in time to see Adler pitch forward onto his face. The back of his head was a ruin of hair, blood, and bone gleaming in the headlights. Adler was motionless as red seeped from under his head into the snow.

Motionless. Silent. Dead.

Disbelief and a sort of giddy elation washed over Klink as he stared. Adler was dead? He was gone? This was over?

Adler’s head jerked and another crack echoed into the night. A third crack swiftly followed, sending blood up into the air from the impact.

Klink could feel his own blood pooling down in his stomach. He thought he might vomit but he found it difficult to look away. Adler was dead, and Klink was kneeling less than an arm’s length from a corpse with a mangled head.

“It’s done, Captain,” the Corporal Adler had called Herr Hirsch said quietly, his tone sympathetic but firm. “It’s done.”

Reminded that he was not alone, Klink dragged his eyes from Adler’s body to Richter. The Captain was nodding in a slow, distracted way as he moved to holster his pistol. Then he stopped short, shaking his head. “Not yet.” He turned his attention as well as the Walther towards Klink, frowning. “Who are you?”

Adler was dead and, depending on how much the increasingly impatient man with the pistol liked his answer, Klink might be sharing his fate. He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth. “Co-colonel Wilhelm Klink, L-luftwaffe.”

The frown on Richter’s face deepened. “Aren’t you the Kommandant of Stalag 13? What are you doing out here?”

What to say? What to say? Something, beyond the Walther pointed at him, told him that how he answered this question was very important. He wasn’t a good liar—and having a barrel pressed against his head wasn’t helping things. So, he couldn’t lie. But how could he tell this man the truth? He’d get himself killed _along_ with Hogan and his men. And, if he tried to lie and Richter didn’t believe him, Klink couldn’t imagine that the Captain would let him live.

After everything he’d been through, he wasn’t going to die on some abandoned road in the middle of nowhere. He refused. There had to be _something_ he could say to get out of this!

But, maybe, if he told a certain _version_ of the truth—

The barrel nudged him roughly. “Answer me!”

Considering the fact that it was very likely he could end up dead no matter _what_ he said, he didn’t seem to have much to lose by making the attempt. _It’s not a lie_ , he told himself, _it’s the truth—it’s what Hogan said_. “I-I … General Adler wanted a prisoner from my camp.” When the other man’s expression became dark, Klink hurried on. “I—I had planned to, to shoot General Adler in … in self defense.”

Captain Richter looked confused, and he lowered his pistol to aim it at the ground. “Self defense?”

Confused was better than angry. Confused meant that he still had a chance. Klink swallowed hard, reminding himself that he was telling the truth. “C-coming out here was my Senior POW’s idea to get me out of this without suicide. This prisoner would vouch for me when … when the inquiries came.”

The Captain looked over at Newkirk who was squinting at them in bafflement. “Is this true?”

When this question received a blank look, Richter explained Klink’s explanation for their presence here in halting English before repeating his question.

Newkirk nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“I see,” Richter said, still frowning. He turned to stare at Klink through narrowed, suspicious eyes. “But why would you have to commit suicide? Why not go to the authorities?”

Klink bit his lip. If his suspicions were right about that “rather memorable” meeting Adler and this Captain had had, he could tell the truth. If he were wrong … f he were wrong, he was about to make a very big mistake. But, seeing as he couldn’t gather up the wits to really lie, he had little choice. “General Adler … he, he blackmailed me.” There was no change in the Captain’s expression. “He said that he would tell the Gestapo I was involved in a, a plot to kill the Führer unless I, unless I agreed to, to let him,” he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the other man’s reaction, not wanting to see his own death coming, “use my body.”

Silence. Then, somewhat gruffly: “I have an important job for you, Colonel. You are to inform Berlin that their … little embarrassment has been taken care of. Understand?”

Klink nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Richter gave Klink’s shoulder an almost gentle pat. “Excellent. Where are the keys to the prisoner’s cuffs?”

“Th-they’re with General Adler.”

The Captain holstered his pistol and began barking orders to the other four men. “You, find the keys. You, take the Colonel and make sure he cannot leave the car. You, keep guard on the prisoner. Quickly!”

Klink found himself being pulled to his feet and dragged back to the staff car. He was uncuffed and pushed into the driver’s seat before his hands were cuffed to the steering wheel. He could only watch as one of the SS men ripped into the seat of the passenger side until he reached the metal frame.

Then a free Newkirk was pushed into the passenger seat before right hand was cuffed to the frame of the seat. Unlike Klink, he still had his left hand free, for all the good it would do him. The Englishman seemed merely bemused by all of this. Klink doubted he’d be so calm in his place!

Lights flooded into Klink’s eyes for a moment as the SS’s truck drove passed the car, heading out of the woods. He watched their tail-lights in the rearview mirror until they disappeared around a curve in the road.

He glanced passed the rearview mirror to see Adler’s prone body slumped, every detail on display under the harsh yellow of the headlights. He looked away from the sight, feeling his gorge rise, and found himself returning the Corporal’s gaze. The gaze offered nothing in the brief moment before Newkirk turned his attention to something outside the passenger side window.

Klink could hear him breathing, could see his breath, could see his own breath.

It was cold. The knees of his pants were damp from the snow.

But they wouldn’t be here for long. Now that his brain had a chance to settle again, he realized the situation wasn’t as bleak as he’d thought. While he couldn’t shift the gears, being handcuffed like he was, the prisoner _could_. They could drive back to camp and call the authorities. It would require the Corporal’s cooperation, but Klink couldn’t imagine that Newkirk was any more anxious than he was to spend all night out here. His eyes flickered down to the ignition and his elation died.

The keys were missing.

They must have been taken while he’d been preoccupied with being handcuffed.

He slumped down into his seat, wincing as the cuffs bit into his wrists. This was going to be a long night.


	63. A Taste of Olives

Newkirk didn’t understand why there had been changes to the plan but he didn’t like any of them—especially the handcuffed-to-the-staff-car-with-the-Kommandant change. Grimly, he examined the cuff securing his right wrist to the inner frame of the seat for the fifth time in as many minutes. If he were by himself and if it weren’t so important to stay put, he thought he could have freed himself fairly easy.

As it stood, he was stuck. At least the Kommandant was being quiet for the moment, and he’d been afforded the luxury of sitting inside the staff car rather than outside of it. While it was cold inside the car, it was undoubtedly colder in the open air. He was actually a bit surprised at the kindness, since he hadn’t spared any pins when he’d been fitting the Simeons. He’d expected them to pay him back for that somehow. Perhaps they were more forgiving that he was.

In any case, when he got back to camp, he’d have to ask the Colonel who had done their make-up. He hadn’t been able to recognize the Simeons at all, and he wouldn’t mind getting some pointers from the one who’d managed it. That sort of skill could come in very handy. 

Newkirk also wondered what General Adler had said to make the Simeons so angry. Adler had been slurring too badly for Newkirk to understand him, but something he’d said must have set at least one of them off. Maybe killing Adler had been a moment of poor impulse control rather than an actual-Colonel-Hogan-approved change in plan. If _that_ was the case, it was probably a _good_ thing they’d backed out of the last mission: Newkirk knew that he was a bit impulsive himself, but he’d never been _kill-a-man_ impulsive!

“Corporal?” Klink asked. His first words since the ‘Gestapo Captain’ had handcuffed him to the steering wheel were almost tentative.

Newkirk sighed. He’d known the quiet wouldn’t last, but he’d been hoping that it would last a little longer. He grudgingly turned to look at the Kraut. “Yes, Kommandant?”

“Why...? Why did you volunteer for this?”

There were no words to describe how tired Newkirk was of hearing various forms of this question. “I wanted some time away from the kids.”

“Kids?” Klink looked perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

Newkirk rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the handcuff around his wrist.

Silence fell once more. Then, hesitantly: “You didn’t, you didn’t do it for _me_ , did you?”

Newkirk turned his head long enough to glare at the Boche. “No.”

A bleat of nervous laughter. “Of course, of course not.” For some reason, the Kommandant sounded relieved. “You did it for Colonel Hogan.”

“Not for him either,” Newkirk denied, letting the annoyance he felt seep into his voice. “I’d risk a lot for the Colonel, but if he wants to put his bum on the line for _you_ , that’s none of my business.” He shook his head, growing more irritated as he thought about it. “Bleeding hearts, the lot of them.”

“What do you mean?”

A disgusted snort escaped him. “Kinch won’t shut up about you—the Colonel is almost as bad as he is now.” With every word, he felt his bitterness grow. This man was the _enemy_ for crying out loud! Sympathizing with the enemy was for traitors usually, but, apparently, that went out the window when it came to rough sex. It was so ridiculous. And maddening. Why had _he_ become the bad guy for pointing out the bleeding obvious! “They’ve just about got LeBeau seeing it their way, and Carter, well, he’s soft in the head.”

“It?” Klink said the word as though his throat needed clearing.

“General Adler buggering you, of course,” Newkirk spat. The whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth, in his brain. It wasn’t fair. Just because he refused to get all misty-eyed for the Jerry didn’t mean he was heartless. However, while General Poof was clearly an evil man, _Klink_ was the one who bent over for him. And more. His stomach turned from remembering what he’d heard yesterday afternoon on the bug. 

“Ah.” Klink cleared his throat. “H-how do they see, ah, ‘it’?”

Newkirk rolled his eyes despite the fact that the Kommandant couldn’t see the motion. “Like none of this business between you and Adler is your fault—completely blameless, you are. Pure as the driven snow.” Honestly, he’d expected more from a smart man like Kinch, from a smart man like the Colonel.

“And _you_ think I asked for this?” Klink demanded, sounding sickened himself. “I assure you, I did not ask that, that animal to force himself on me!”

Glaring out the window, Newkirk let his cuffed wrist bang against the metal frame. He knew he should just shut up now before he said something that would definitely get him cooler time back in camp, but now, confronted with the source of all the confusion of the last few days, he found it difficult to keep his mouth under control. “I’m sure you didn’t say, ‘Hello, General Adler! Fancy a bit of the old rough and tumble?’ but you didn’t fight it very hard, did you?”

For a moment, Newkirk thought that that had shut the Kommandant up. When the other man finally spoke again, his voice was soft and sad. “I’d thought my life was worth more than what cooperating with Adler would cost me. I, I didn’t know then how high the price would become.” He sighed, defeated. “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve paid too much.”

Newkirk did not turn to look at him. He was not going to be taken in like Kinch and Hogan. “It was your choice,” he said baldly. “Knew you were a coward already,” he continued, not caring if he was writing a one way ticket to solitary, “but I hadn’t realized you were a fruit, too.”

“A fruit?” The Kommandant sounded baffled.

It was tempting to go through the rest of the names he had for those people that the German was unlikely to know, but he didn’t want to extend this conversation any further than he had to. He’d committed himself when he’d answered the Jerry’s _first_ question but that didn’t mean that he had to keep it going all night long! “A homosexual.”

“Ah, I see,” Klink said quietly. The pause was long enough to give Newkirk hope that _this_ time the conversation was really over before he broke the silence again. “I don’t know if I’m a, a fruit?, but you are right: I _am_ a coward.”

Newkirk was surprised to hear so much self-loathing in the Jerry’s voice. He turned again and saw that the Kommandant was staring at his cuffed hands. The Englishman was abruptly reminded of the fact that Klink had, in his small way, stood up for him when Adler had started … when Adler had been getting fresh. Being handcuffed as he was with the General baring down on him, there hadn’t been much Newkirk had been able to do to escape it. Whatever else he thought of Klink, he was grateful that he’d told Adler to stop when he had.

Still, there was no reason to feel guilty: nothing he’d said so far hadn’t been true. Maybe a bit blunt, but not untrue.

Suddenly, Klink sat up ramrod straight. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” Painstakingly, he started pulling up on his coat.

“What are you doing?”

The Kommandant ignored him, focused. “Komm, schön. Komm, schön.” Finally, the bottom of his coat was bunched up in his lap, and he put his hand as deeply into the pocket as he could. He winced, the cuff biting into his wrist as he fought for the extra inch. All at once, he relaxed, a stupid grin on his face. “Schöne.” A pistol became visible as he let the coat fall back down.

Awkwardly, he brought the pistol to rest on top of the steering wheel. Then he frowned.

“Do you have a plan, sir?” Newkirk asked, trying to hide his surprise. It was silly to be surprised that the Kommandant would be armed. Why wouldn’t he be armed? After all, the Jerry had thought _he’d_ be the one doing Adler in.

Klink nodded slowly. “Yes, but I’m not sure if it will work now. I thought that I could shoot the chain … even if I can turn the pistol enough to fire it, I can’t shoot the chain without shooting myself.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s no use, Corporal.”

Newkirk had to agree with the assessment. “What’s your hurry? Someone will find us soon.”

This reassurance elicited a shudder from Klink. “Not soon enough for me.” He looked out the windshield and shuddered again as he quickly brought his eyes back down to his hands. “I don’t want to look at him anymore.”

Almost involuntarily, Newkirk gazed out at Adler’s corpse. Under the yellow glow of the headlights, General Poof’s body was slumped. Dark blood stained the snow around his head, and the back of his head was, pun intended, a bloody mess. His hands, still cuffed behind his back, were limp and motionless. Naturally so, because he was dead.

And good riddance.

Still, the sight was grizzly, and Newkirk had to agree that he didn’t want to look at the prone body any longer either. He turned his head to look out into the much more appealing nothingness outside his own window.

“I wish I’d been the one to shoot him,” Klink said suddenly, harshly.

Another sentiment that Newkirk didn’t disagree with. But what right did _Klink_ have to take such vindictive pleasure at the poof’s death? Newkirk had been handcuffed when Adler had, had gotten fresh with him. What was the Kommandant’s excuse? “Done mourning your lover then?” Immediately, he knew he had made a mistake, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it: he’d already resigned himself to spending some time in the cooler, and this was the least the man deserved for all the trouble he’d caused.

Silence. Then low and dangerous: “He was not my lover.”

“Sure he wasn’t,” Newkirk returned sarcastically. “’s why you let him bugger you.”

“He was not my lover,” the Kommandant repeated. “Or are you going to tell me that he was _your_ lover, too then?”

“What?” Newkirk turned more out of surprise than anything else, but anger soon joined in as he realized what the kraut was insinuating. “ _I_ was handcuffed,” he said, giving voice to what had started this exchange. “What was _your_ excuse for bending over for him? For getting on your knees and—” he broke off as the Jerry’s darkening face reminded him too late of the folly of provoking someone who could have him shot and not get in very much trouble for it.

“I believed him,” Klink bit out, clearly about to lose the fight to keep his temper, “when he told me he could force me.”

“So, you just bent over and took it,” Newkirk sniped before he could stop himself.

The Kommandant laughed. It was a harsh, bitter noise. “Look at me, Corporal—tell me that I could have fought against Adler and won. You can’t, can you?”

“You still didn’t have to just quit because the odds looked bad!” Newkirk argued. Even as he said it, he knew that the honest answer to the Kommandant’s question would have been no, he couldn’t have won. Still, that didn’t matter, did it? Newkirk wouldn’t have gotten on his knees for that Poof for any reason.

Klink looked at him with undisguised disgust. “There was no way for me to win. I could have fought him and won myself a quicker death _after_ he was done taking what he wanted from me.”

That couldn’t be right. Kinch had seemed pretty convinced that the Kommandant’s choices had been the buggery or Gestapo interrogation—he hadn’t said that Klink would have gotten buggered either way. Surely, if that were the case, Kinch would have said so! Maybe he’d misunderstood. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Klink said in a way that indicated he found Newkirk’s question incredibly stupid, “that Adler planned to use me no matter _what_ I did, and I decided that I’d rather be alive afterwards.” Then his lips turned up into a nasty smile. “And what about you? Did you volunteer _hoping_ that, that this plot wouldn’t work and Adler could have you after all? Did you enjoy his hands on you? Did you like it when he kissed you? Did you want it?” His eyes blazed and Newkirk found himself glad that the other man was handcuffed on the other side of the car. “Well? Did you? Answer me!” He looked half-crazy now, and while he seemed to have forgotten the Luger in his hands, Newkirk hadn’t.

When Colonel Hogan had told them that the Kommandant had pointed a gun at his chest, Newkirk had thought the Colonel had been exaggerating. But, seeing how furious the man was now, Newkirk knew that he’d been wrong to doubt the story. In any case, the time to be flip and sarcastic had definitely passed. “No,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

“No, what?” Klink prompted with a bitter sarcasm. “Be precise.”

The phrase sounded so familiar, but it wasn’t until he gave his answer that he remembered where he’d heard it: from General Adler to Klink on the coffee pot. “No, I didn’t want it.” 

“Well, I didn’t want it either.” Klink bowed his head, his anger seemingly spent. “Just be quiet, Corporal. Please.”

The silence hung heavy in the air for a long time as Newkirk thought and the Kommandant stared at his chest. Newkirk had that sort of guilty feeling that he usually felt when he’d gone too far or had said too much, but he knew that it was misplaced. Nothing he’d said had been wrong. Nothing he’d said hadn’t been true. So what if Klink couldn’t have won in a fight against Adler? That didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have made the attempt! Newkirk had been handcuffed, and _he’d_ still tried to fight back.

For all the good his struggles had done him, of course. He glared out his window into the darkness as the memories forced their way into his brain. Adler bearing down on him, touching him, licking his lips, and then forcing a tongue through his lips to lick his teeth. Newkirk felt the urge to spit, fancying his could still taste Adler in his mouth. The hell of it was that he knew he’d been lucky that it had only gone that far—he’d been helpless to stop what had been happening as it was.

Still, even with what had happened, he didn’t regret volunteering: dealing with General Poof had been worth that.

Thinking this reminded Newkirk of the start of the row between him and Klink, and he looked towards the Kommandant. Klink’s head was still bowed, his shoulders were slumped, and he seemed smaller somehow. Older. His eyes looked almost glazed, as though he were engrossed in whatever he was thinking of, but, judging from his expression, those thoughts were unpleasant.

And Newkirk had a pretty good idea of why they’d be unpleasant. “I volunteered because Andr—Sergeant Carter was going to,” he said quietly, unsure why he felt the need to share this answer with the Kommandant when he hadn’t told anyone else. Maybe it was that misplaced sense of guilt. Or maybe he was cold and he needed something to take his mind off of it. Maybe he didn’t like the quiet much either.

Klink frowned but didn’t look at him. “You wouldn’t volunteer to take Colonel Hogan’s place but you would to take Sergeant Carter’s? Why?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he answered flippantly. Then, more seriously: “If I’d let him volunteer first, there would be no changing his mind.” At least, not without humiliating him by suggesting that he couldn’t handle it.

Now, Klink looked at him, frown deepening. “But why do you care? Why would it matter if he came instead of you? You had no problem with Colonel Hogan doing this.”

Newkirk laughed. “Colonel Hogan knew what he was risking. Carter, well, he...” He trailed off, unsure of how much of this thought processes he wanted to share with the German.

“Sergeant Carter didn’t?” Klink asked, surprised. “Hogan told me he’d discussed it with you, Sergeant Kinchole, Corporal LeBeau, _and_ Sergeant Carter.” He sounded slightly ill thinking about it.

“Oh, he _knew_ ,” Newkirk said lightly, “but he didn’t understand it.” He smiled, remembering his earlier amusement with Carter’s questions. “Poor LeBeau had to explain how two ‘fellas’ could bump uglies.” His smile turned into a grin. “He thought LeBeau was pulling his leg.” It had been as if Carter hadn’t known that fairies even _existed_. Or, if he’d known that, he hadn’t realized that they’d want to have _sex_. For a grown man, Carter so often had this air of innocence about him.

While it was at times fun to relieve the younger man of some of his naivety, Newkirk hadn’t thought that leaving him to General Poof would be one of those fun ways. Letting Carter sign on for this mission was something Newkirk’s conscience wouldn’t allow. Not when there were so many ways it could go tits up. Even though things hadn’t gone as badly as Newkirk had feared, he was still glad that he’d kept Carter from volunteering. Perhaps a couple attempted kisses and wandering hands weren’t too serious, all things considered, but they were still more than Newkirk would want to allow happening to him. 

Klink seemed puzzled for a moment. “I see.” He shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you would volunteer for him and not for Colonel Hogan.”

“The governor didn’t _want_ volunteers to take his place,” Newkirk explained, annoyed by the German’s thickness. “After I volunteered, he wouldn’t leave off. Kept asking if I was sure I wanted to volunteer.” He half snorted at the thought. “’Course I didn’t want to volunteer, but I couldn’t back out, could I? Not without Carter getting wind of it.”

When Klink merely stared at him, Newkirk sighed. “Colonel Hogan can take care of himself. Not that Carter can’t take care of himself, too,” he hastened to add, not wanting to leave the Kommandant with the idea that Newkirk thought so little of the Sergeant. “He’s not a child!”

“Then why?”

Newkirk was about to say something sarcastic when he realized that he hadn’t actually answered this question yet. “I didn’t like the idea of that fairy getting fresh with him, is all. I didn’t think that this,” he gestured around him with his free hand, “was something he needed to get involved in.”

After a few moments of consideration, Klink nodded. “You wanted to protect him.” He seemed suddenly anguished. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to protect you.”

Having not expected the apology, it took Newkirk a couple seconds to come up with a response. “I knew the job was dangerous when I took it,” he said at last with a nonchalant shrug.

The sheer disbelief on the Kommandant’s face was comical. Then he bowed his head. When he spoke, his tone was soft and miserable. “I tried so hard to keep Adler from doing what he did to me to anyone else. I-I failed in that too. And I’m sorry you suffered for it.”

Newkirk didn’t need or want an apology from the Kommandant, and he’d been about to brush the latest one off when he stopped short. He remembered thinking that day, when he, LeBeau, and Carter had been listening in on the conversation between Hogan, Kinch, and Klink, that the Kommandant didn’t mean any of what he’d said about having a responsibility towards the prisoners. At the time, he’d thought that the Jerry was merely trying to make his suicide plans look better to Colonel Hogan.

While Newkirk was clever enough to see that the Kommandant wasn’t really apologizing to _him_ now, it was obvious how much Klink regretted not being able to ‘protect’ him. Klink had done him a good turn before: he hadn’t _had_ to say anything when Adler had been … getting fresh, but he had. Newkirk tried not to think about how far it might have gone had Klink not intervened. He supposed he could give the man this in return.

“Me? No, I’m fine, Kommandant,” he said lightly. When this seemed insufficient, he added, “But, if it makes you feel better, I don’t blame you for General Poof.”

“It does. Thank you,” Klink said after a moment, his tone still soft but no longer miserable. He smiled wistfully. “Your Sergeant Carter is lucky to have someone like you on his side.”

Usually, a bloke didn’t have _this_ many mood swings unless he was liquored up! Why was he so wistful, anyway? He had most of Newkirk’s mates on his side as it was. “You do, too. You’ve got the Colonel and Kinch cheering for you.”

Something very sad touched the Kommandant’s expression before it was gone. “So you said.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. “Goodnight, Corporal.”

And that was that, it seemed. “Yeah, ‘night,” Newkirk returned, feeling awkward. Before tonight, he doubted he’d traded ten words with this man. Now, they’d shared this bizarrely intimate conversation, and Newkirk didn’t know how he ought to feel or what he ought to think now that it was over. If it weren’t for the fact that he had nothing else to distract him from the silence and the cold, he probably would have put the whole thing out of his mind.

But, as there was nothing else to distract him, he found himself going over it, trying to decide what it all meant.

A small part of him argued that this conversation had changed nothing. After all, nothing he’d heard tonight made what he’d thought about the Iron Chicken and General Poof _necessarily_ wrong. For instance, he could easily say that Klink was just having some regrets about sleeping with Adler now that Adler was dead. He could say that Klink had simply been lying about not wanting what he’d done with Adler. If he was being generous, he could even grant that Klink _hadn’t_ been lying but that the problem really was that Adler had come on too strong for Klink’s comfort.

He could throw his lot in with any of these explanations and still be right.

The only problem was that Newkirk knew in his heart of hearts that things had changed, and that the only reason he was trying to convince himself otherwise was for the sake of his pride. His pride had got him into trouble enough times for him to recognize the signs. Since he wasn’t clever enough to fool himself into thinking that nothing had changed and he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, he had to concede that tonight had changed things.

What it all really came down to was two uncomfortable propositions as far as his pride was concerned. Either his original opinion about the Kommandant and General Adler had been wrong, or he’d been taken in by Klink’s sob story like Colonel Hogan and Kinch. Either he’d made a mistake or he was a dupe. He could take his pick, really.

Of course, if he was a dupe, he was in good company. Kinch certainly had seemed convinced that Klink had been blameless in this mess. In fact, the whole crux of Kinch’s argument had been that the Kommandant had only agreed to surrender to Adler’s demands to save his own life. At the time, Newkirk had argued that Klink had only been playing hard to get: Klink had wanted what Adler was offering but had needed to pretense of the blackmail arrangement to go through with it.

He could admit now that his reasoning then had been weak. He didn’t know as he’d deserved being called a rapist for it, but, after tonight, he thought he could understand why Kinch had said such a thing. Hitting below the belt was dishonorable but sometimes necessary: Kinch had obviously thought it necessary.

While Colonel Hogan had not said outright that he agreed with Kinch, that Adler had raped Klink, it had been obvious to Newkirk that the Colonel was taking what Kinch had to say about it very seriously. In a way, it had seemed like a betrayal. Not the fact that he was taking Kinch seriously—Kinch was usually one to take seriously—but the fact that Hogan seemed to suddenly care so much about their warden. Sure, Schultzie wasn’t too bad, for a German. However, the only reason that the Iron Chicken wasn’t much of a threat to their operation was because the man was an idiot, not because he _wasn’t_ a cowardly weasel.

Newkirk sighed softly, seeing his breath billow out. Still, idiot or not, weasel or not, the kraut had stood up for him, in his own small way, and that would not soon be forgotten. It meant something. What it meant in the long run, Newkirk couldn’t say. What it meant in the short run was that Newkirk was willing to take the man at his word when he said he hadn’t wanted what Adler had done.

Klink hadn’t been playing hard to get: he’d been like Newkirk with his hands cuffed behind his back. The cuffs had been different, of course, but the idea was the same. Whether he’d fought or not, nothing would have changed.

So, in the end, he’d been wrong. As much as his pride wouldn’t like it, Newkirk knew that he needed to at least admit to Kinch that he’d been mistaken. He couldn’t comfortably say that Kinch had been right about everything, but he could say that he finally understood Kinch’s point of view. He had a hunch that that would mean more to the radio man than agreeing with him.

Shifting his body to lean against the car door, he sought a more comfortable position. He wouldn’t sleep well—between the cold and the lack of anything comfortable to lay his head on, he doubted he’d get any real rest—but he didn’t have a better idea of how to pass the time. It would probably be hours before they were rescued. Assuming, of course, that the Simeons didn’t do anything _else_ impulsive before they got back to Stalag 13. He noted, before he closed his eyes, that it was starting to snow.


	64. One Little Slip

“Where’s Adler?” the Colonel demanded.

Kinch looked to Simon, who seemed to be in no hurry to speak, before looking back to his commander. “He’s dead, sir.”

Clearly, this hadn’t been the answer Hogan had expected. “He’s dead? How? What happened?”

“Someone beat us to the punch,” Simon broke in, finally finding his voice. “We were planning to set up the ambush four or five miles in, but there were already people waiting there by the time we’d arrived. Luckily, we’d been approaching on foot, or else they would have seen us. They looked like Gestapo, four or five of them with a truck. They were just standing there, waiting for something.

“Of course, we kept ourselves hidden. Sergeant Kinchole suggested that we set up _our_ ambush closer to the entrance of the road, but I didn’t think it was wise—I didn’t know how long _those_ Gestapo planned on staying where they were, and we certainly didn’t want to be caught unawares from behind if they decided to get out of there before we did what _we’d_ come to do.”

It was with obvious reluctance that Hogan nodded his agreement. “Reasonable,” he said slowly. “Then what happened?”

Now, Simon looked nervous again. “Well, I decided to go further in, in case these Gestapo men were merely performing searches on passing cars. I thought that either the staff car we were waiting for would be allowed to pass through or that it wouldn’t. If it wouldn’t be allowed, then there really wasn’t anything we would be _able_ to do. If it would be allowed, the plan could go as we’d discussed.”

This time, Hogan seemed less pleased with the decision. “You didn’t think to send anyone to pass along that this had happened?”

“There wasn’t time,” Simon denied stridently. “There wasn’t time to send someone all the way back here to get further instructions.”

Hogan was still frowning but didn’t offer his opinion on the statement one way or the other. “So, you walked passed them and set up the ambush further down the road.”

“Around them,” came the unwise and unnecessary correction, “but yes. About two miles away seemed safe enough—if capturing this General Adler of yours was noisy, I figured that would be far enough away from those Gestapo soldiers. I _had_ left a scout to stay closer to where the Gestapo were to keep an eye on them, in case they left or sent the staff car we were waiting for back out.

“We were there for about an hour when we heard gunshots.” He bit his lip. “Our scout came to us as soon as he could and told us that a car had been stopped and that one of the three men inside it had been executed by one of those Gestapo soldiers. Sadly, he hadn’t stayed long enough to see anything else, so we had to proceed slowly and carefully. By the time we arrived at the scene, the Gestapo were already gone. According to Sergeant Kinchole, the man on the ground in front of the staff car headlights was General Adler.” He stood up a bit straighter. “I would not allow your Sergeant to get any closer to the staff car to see if the other two passengers had fared any better. It was not safe.”

Hogan’s expression became one of steely determination. “Simon, you’re taking me back there.”

It came as no surprise to Kinch when Simon balked at the order. “I can’t, Papa Bear. It’s not safe—”

“I’ll tell you what’s not safe,” Hogan interrupted, his tone telling Kinch that his temper was near its breaking point. “What’s not safe is you wasting time arguing with me. You’re taking me back there. Now.”

“But I—”

Before Kinch realized what was going to happen, Hogan surged forward and grabbed Simon’s shoulders. He pressed the other man into the dirt wall and growled, “I am going to find out what’s happened to my men, and you’re going to help me. Understood?”

Simon’s face was pale. “A-all right, Papa Bear,” he stuttered. “I’ll take you. I’ll take you!”

Hogan let go of the man’s shoulders, his earlier anger all but absent. His smile was cheerful but there was still something dangerous lingering in his expression. “I’m glad we understand each other.” He turned his back on Simon to look at Kinch. “Tell London that the Sauerkraut was spilled, but not to worry because the cleanup is on us.”

“Yes, sir,” Kinch replied, doing his best to hide how unnerved he’d been by the Colonel’s uncharacteristic display of temper.

“Oh,” Hogan went on as though Kinch hadn’t spoken, “and if Schultz comes around asking for me, tell him that I had some eagle business to attend to. Tell him I’ll be back for morning roll call.”

Eagle business? Kinch suddenly wondered just how much his commander had shared with the German guard about this. “Yes, sir.”

After darkening up his face more completely and putting on a wool-knit hat to cover his head, Hogan went up the ladder with Simon following close behind. The noise of the trap door opening and closing heralded their final departure. Several minutes passed before anyone spoke.

“Did he say ‘my _men_ ’?” Carter asked abruptly.

Kinch had not caught it at the time, but now that Carter had mentioned it, he realized that the younger man was right. “He did, didn’t he?”

“ _Oui_ ,” LeBeau answered. He frowned. “I wonder what he meant by that. There’s only Peter out there that’s ours.”

“Unless he was counting Klink?” Carter suggested.

LeBeau looked skeptical. “Why would he count the boche?”

“Gosh, I don’t know.” Carter shrugged, a bit defensively. “It was just a thought—no one else is _out_ there besides Klink.” He considered it a moment longer before shrugging again. “Do you have a better idea?”

Although clearly still skeptical, LeBeau shook his head. “I suppose not.” He picked up a cloth a started wiping the grease paint from his face. “Maybe _le Colonel_ worries about him because of what happened last night.”

“Last night,” Carter echoed without comprehension. “Why? What happened last night?”

LeBeau paused in his clean up, troubled. “According to _le Colonel_ , the Kommandant would not give a prisoner to that General last night, and the General whipped him until he was unconscious for it.”

Shock contorted Carter’s features. “Golly.” Then he shook his head, marveling. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have that in him to do that for us. I guess he’s not as big a chicken as we always say he is.” He looked to Kinch. “Did you know about this?”

Frankly, Kinch was a bit surprised. He wasn’t surprised that LeBeau had heard about last night’s events, but he was that Carter _hadn’t_. “The Colonel told me about it this morning.”

Abruptly, Carter’s mood soured. He crossed his arms and glowered at his friends and comrades. “Why doesn’t anybody ever tell _me_ anything? Why did the Colonel tell _you_ fellas and not me?”

LeBeau set the cloth he’d been using on his lap. “I _asked_ him why Sergeant Wilson left the barracks with Schultz last night.” He tilted his chin upwards. “You could have asked too, André.”

“Oh.” Flushing at the rebuke, Carter uncrossed his arms. Then, rallying, he returned his gaze to Kinch, accusing. “Well, why did the Colonel tell _you_?”

Kinch had to smile. “I asked, like Louis did.”

Roundly defeated, Carter sighed and slumped down into his seat. “Okay, I get it. It’s my fault for not asking.”

LeBeau patted him on the shoulder. “I will let you know next time.”

“Gee, thanks, Louis,” Carter said, grateful but confused, “but I don’t think that’s going to happen again, what with Adler being dead and all.”

The dumbfounded stare Carter’s remark had earned from the Frenchman had been predictable but no less amusing for that. After taking a second or two to enjoy the moment, Kinch decided to get back to business. The talk of what had happened to the Kommandant the night before had reminded Kinch that he’d never had a chance to pass along the word that their ring of secrecy had widened. “Since Wilson treated Klink’s injuries last night, Colonel Hogan told him what he’s told you about this situation.”

If Newkirk had been there, Kinch would have left it at that: the Englishman would probably have had some vulgar comments for what he was about to say. As Newkirk was not there, Kinch saw no reason not to share the medic’s insights with Carter and LeBeau. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to Wilson myself yet, but the Colonel told me that Wilson believes Klink has battle fatigue.”

A skeptical frown furrowed the Frenchman’s brow. “Battle fatigue? From what?”

This was threatening to go into already tread territory, but Kinch saw no way around it. “Probably from what General Adler was putting him through.”

“Adler _did_ put him through a lot,” Carter agreed, nodding. “Remember yesterday, Louis? On the bug? That was something, wasn’t it? And then the whooping he got?” He turned his attention to Kinch. “You weren’t kidding when you said Adler was violent!”

“That’s certainly part of it,” Kinch allowed, not quite as certain now that Adler’s physical displays of temper were the sole source of Klink’s trouble. “And I’m sure that the other things Adler was doing didn’t help any either.”

LeBeau was still frowning, thoughtful now, as though coming to a decision. “Does Wilson agree with you? About what you think happened to the Kommandant?”

Kinch wondered why that mattered to LeBeau. A small, bitter part of him suggested that Wilson’s words held more weight for the Frenchman because they shared the same color skin. He immediately discounted the idea and felt a little guilty for having thought it: LeBeau had never acted as though such things mattered to him before now. While Wilson wasn’t a doctor, he was the closest thing they had to one—it was only natural to see him as having a measure of authority in a situation like this.

“The Colonel told me,” Kinch explained, “that Wilson asked _him_ if Klink had been raped before he’d had a chance to explain anything.” He had to smile at his remembered satisfaction. It had been nice to have someone he hadn’t had to convince agree with him.

A sigh from LeBeau drew his attention back to now. His expression spoke of an important decision having just been made. “I thought that it was just sex,” he said after a moment, sounding subdued. “The Kommandant is no prize, and I thought he should have been happy that _someone_ was interested in having him.” He picked absently at his scarf. “But I have been thinking about Peter out there with that _monster_ , and I don’t think it would be just sex for him.” His smile was sheepish. “I am sorry that I didn’t listen to what you had to say before.”

“Apology accepted,” Kinch said easily. He didn’t tend to hold on to grudges, and he never failed to accept a sincere apology. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t disappointed that it had been Wilson’s acceptance that had convinced LeBeau, but, in the end, who was responsible for LeBeau changing his mind didn’t matter. He honestly hadn’t expected the Frenchman to _ever_ take his side on the Klink issue. Whatever reservations LeBeau still held, this was several leaps in the right direction. It gave him some hope that, maybe, Newkirk could be swayed as well.

Not a lot of hope, though. There was a fine line between optimistic and delusional: Newkirk was probably a lost cause as far as this was concerned.

“But you never said what you thought, Kinch,” Carter reminded him impatiently, breaking into Kinch’s thoughts. His expression must have conveyed his bewilderment for Sergeant elaborated, “About what the Colonel said earlier. Do you think he was talking about Klink too?”

Kinch couldn’t decide if this was a good question or an over-thinking of a slip of the tongue. On one hand, for whatever reason, the Colonel wanted to help Klink, so Klink’s welfare must matter to him. On the other, it wasn’t as though the Kommandant was one of Papa Bear’s operatives—the Kommandant was _not_ one of Hogan’s men, not one of _them_. While Kinch himself was quite sympathetic to Klink’s plight, Klink was still on the opposite side of the war, and Hogan would not have forgotten that.

He’d been about to say that he was sure it had been just a word misspoken in worry and anger when something tickled the edges of his brain. Yes, the Kommandant wasn’t one of Papa Bear’s operatives, but Klink _had_ been the back-up plan, hadn’t he? A rather poorly thought out and very risky back-up plan, but the back-up plan none the less. The back-up plan that Klink thought was the only one.

The question that had bothered him then, when Hogan explained just what sort of hook he’d gotten the Kommandant to swallow, came back to him now: Why _had_ the Kommandant accepted such a flimsy plan? As an officer in the German military, a man who routinely had to deal with the Gestapo, he should know better than the average citizen that the Gestapo looked after their own. How could Klink have possibly imagined that he’d be able to get away with the plan Hogan had fed him? Especially after the well-reasoned explanation as to why suicide had been the only possible answer.

“Kinch?”

Kinch heard the hail but ignored it as another, far more pressing, question coming to mind. Why had Hogan asked what Kinch had heard before telling him anything this morning? If the conversation that he’d missed had truly as dull and repetitive as the Colonel claimed, why had he wasted time asking that question? Why would he need to know what Kinch had heard? Was there something in specific Kinch could have heard in that dull and repetitive conversation? Something, perhaps, that Hogan hadn’t wanted him to hear?

All he’d heard was Hogan talking and Klink being uncharacteristically silent for a strangely long time. Why hadn’t Klink spoken? What had the Kommandant been _doing_ while his commander rambled about being honest? What had been said _before_ that? What might Kinch have heard if he’d turned the bug on earlier?

A possible scenario that answered all of these questions presented itself, and Kinch suddenly wished that he was sitting down—

“Is something wrong?” LeBeau asked, concerned.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Carter supplied helpfully.

—and that he didn’t have an audience. Kinch quickly schooled his expression to hide his disquiet. He had a theory, but he had no evidence for his suspicions to share just yet. It was entirely possible that his suspicion was wrong and that there was an entirely innocent explanation for all of questions he had. He’d rather be wrong because he didn’t know what being right meant. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, having made the connection he had, he found it difficult to see it any other way.

But why would the Colonel have done that?

“What _is_ it, _mon ami_?”

“Nothing,” he said, deciding that he wanted to give the Colonel a chance to answer that final question before he shared his suspicions. “I’m just worried about Newkirk.” It wasn’t a lie: on his list of worries, the Englishman’s welfare was rather high up on it. If only those cowards had let him get a little closer; he could have managed to get close enough to see without being seen!

While LeBeau seemed unconvinced, Carter apparently accepted Kinch’s words at face value. “I’m sure he’s okay,” he said, not dismissively but with his usual optimism. “You heard the gunshots close together, right?” When Kinch nodded, he smiled. “Well, then Peter must be fine—if he’d been shot, the scout would have seen it happen. Those shots must have just been to take Adler out.”

Kinch shared a look with LeBeau and chose not to mention the fact that there were plenty of ways to hurt someone, to kill someone, without making a lot of noise.

“I will feel better about it,” LeBeau offered cautiously, clearly wanting to be realistic without completely deflating Carter’s optimistic bubble, “once _le Colonel_ comes back with news.” He yawned into his hand; the motion only looking slightly forced “Come on, André. Kinch needs to contact London, and we need to get back to our bunks in case there is another roll call.”

“You said it, boy,” Carter agreed. “It’ll be hard enough with the Colonel and Kinch missing without us missing too.” He gave Kinch a wave. “See you later, Kinch.”

“See you.” Kinch watched them leave before making his way to the radio. He couldn’t imagine London taking the news he was going to leave them very well. Not that that was Kinch’s problem: he was just the messenger. It was Colonel Hogan who would have to explain why the man London was expecting would not be arriving. With any luck, the folks who were in charge in London were not awake, and he’d just be able to leave a message. Considering the time, that seemed likely.

And it had turned out to be the case. Once the message that the sauerkraut had spilt and that the clean-up was on Papa Bear had been sent and received, Kinch headed back to the tree stump tunnel to await the arrival of Colonel Hogan. It had been a long night, and it was promising to be a longer day, but he knew that he couldn’t just follow Carter and LeBeau’s example and go back up to his bunk. Newkirk being unaccounted for in unknown condition would have made the prospect difficult enough: with the suspicions now weighing heavily on his mind in addition, the idea of letting this lie even a minute longer than necessary was unthinkable.

He needed answers, and he needed them as soon as possible. His only hope, as he took his seat, was that the Colonel would be willing to supply them.

His only fear was that the answers would have disastrous consequences for them all.


	65. In the Chill of the Night

Klink had wanted nothing more than to sleep after the physically and emotionally draining evening he’d had. Unfortunately, nothing his rational mind camp up with could convince his paranoia that it was safe to fall asleep before the prisoner, so he’d been obliged to wait until Newkirk began to snow before he could relax enough to make the attempt himself. Or, more accurately, make the attempts: he couldn’t manage to do more than fall into fitful dozes.

He would close his eyes, start to drift, and then be brought back with a start at half-heard sounds and half-remembered visions. His physical condition did not help either. He was cold, and his fingers tingled whenever he stopped moving them for more than a few minutes. His throat burned with thirst. Aches that had been pacified by actual medical care were starting to protest the length of time he’d been sitting in one place.

He stared blearily into the darkness outside his window and wished he had a watch. The closest thing he had to a measure of time was watching the snow collect on the windshield, and that wasn’t especially helpful because he had no frame of reference to relate the amount of snow to the amount of time. He couldn’t even tell if he’d been out here long enough to be impatiently awaiting the sunrise.

Not that the appearance of the sun would actually improve things. It wasn’t as though he could expect anyone who might come looking for him to have any idea of where he was. He hadn’t even told Schultz where they had been going since he’d figured that returning to camp would not be the tricky part. After all, Hogan had told him that Adler would be kidnapped: he hadn’t expected the General to be murdered.

He hadn’t expected to be left out in the cold needing to be found.

Even if he had, he hadn’t known then where he would be driving off to anyway.

Klink glanced at the prisoner who seemed to be sleeping peacefully, all things considered. In hindsight, thinking back to it, Newkirk had been awfully calm when he’d been manhandled by the Gestapo soldiers, too. Had _this_ been the plan all along? Had Adler’s fate been sealed the moment Klink had agreed to work with Colonel Hogan?

He shook his head. That couldn’t have been Hogan’s plan. His Senior POW may be able to contact London and leave camp whenever he pleased, but it strained the bounds of credulousness to believe that not only did he have some SS men in his pocket, but that one of them also _happened_ to have had an unsavory history with Adler. Seeing as he’d seen Hogan wearing a German uniform before, he didn’t doubt that the American could get SS uniforms, but Richter, at least, had to have been really in the SS or else Adler would have made _some_ comment about Richter being in a uniform he had no business wearing.

Granted, it was _possible_ that Hogan had the kind of connections he’d need to control a few SS soldiers and that one of those soldiers coincidentally had a grudge. It was possible, Klink supposed, but he didn’t find it very likely.

And having a prisoner with complete run of his prison was?

Klink bowed his head and conceded the point. Still, he’d rather that this hadn’t been the plan. He could accept destruction of bridges and roads and factories and the other oddities that happened around here. But cold-blooded assassination? Of course, he didn’t care much that this particular target was dead, but, well, it was going to be difficult enough to tell the American how he’d used him without being afraid that _he_ would be the one being murdered next.

_‘Put down seems more apt to me, sir.’_

And, naturally, he couldn’t ask Corporal Newkirk if this _had_ been the plan without revealing that he’d known there had _been_ a plan besides the one he’d told Captain Richter. Keeping secrets made things so complicated! As much as he appreciated being in the loop, everything was much simpler out of it.

Newkirk mumbled something in his sleep and turned his face away from Klink, and Klink realized that he’d been staring. He felt his face go hot and was glad that the prisoner hadn’t woken up. It was bad enough being confused about himself without making a habit of gawking at his own prisoners.

He looked away from the Englander and found his eyes drawn to the windshield, now completely coated with flakes. The glow of the headlights showed through, but what lay beyond the thin layer of snow was completely obscured. Part of him was grateful: the sight of Adler’s corpse turned his stomach. Not because Klink was squeamish about blood, which he was to a certain extent, but because of the unabashed happiness he felt seeing the man dead. The shame and stomach turning came when he looked away and realized what he was thinking.

Adler had deserved to die. He’d deserved a less kind death than the one he’d been given. His death was one that made the world a better place. But, despite the way he’d acted, he’d been a man. Surely, one wasn’t supposed to feel such joy at the death of any man. Surely, one wasn’t supposed to wish that he’d been the one to pull the trigger.

However, seeing Adler’s body had been good in a way too. Klink had to keep reminding himself that Adler was truly gone. It had all happened so quickly and had been over so fast, that it was difficult to believe that Adler was actually dead and that what Klink had seen had actually happened. Adler was dead. Adler was not his problem anymore. Adler wasn’t _anyone’s_ problem anymore. Adler would never be anyone’s problem ever again.

_‘Tell Berlin that their ... little embarrassment has been taken care of.’_

It seemed that Hogan had been right on the Mark: Adler wouldn’t be missed too much. Unfortunately, with Adler here and dead, there would definitely be a serious investigation. Once someone actually found them, which was not a completely certain thing. No one in camp knew where they were. The only people who had known where exactly Adler had planned to go were those Gestapo soldiers, and it wasn’t likely that _they’d_ be back anytime soon. Klink did his best not to think about how long it would take for someone to come down this nearly abandoned road.

Before he could sink too far into the gloom, he realized that there had been someone else who’d known where Adler had been planning to go: Hogan had known. He had to have known—his whole plan was predicated on being able to get ahead of Adler and ambush them on the way. If Hogan hadn’t known, how could he have had any confidence in his plan? How could he have had a plan like that?

But, if the American had known, that just created a whole new set of problems. Not the least of which being that Klink himself hadn’t known precisely where Adler had wanted to go before Adler started giving him directions in the car. So, if Klink didn’t tell him, which he hadn’t, how had Hogan learned of the exact location? From Adler? Why would Adler tell Hogan anything?

Klink had the sense that the answer was simple, but he just couldn’t see it. A rabbit had been pulled out of a hat, and he simply couldn’t figure out how the trick had been preformed. This time, he couldn’t even cite Hogan’s clearly superior deductive powers: even Sherlock Holmes required clues to make his deductions!

A frown furrowed Klink’s brow. The problem with all of this was that Klink had only circumstantial evidence that Hogan had known anything about where Adler had wanted to go. It was possible that the Senior POW had had no idea, or that he’d been wrong. And, even if Hogan had known, it wasn’t as though Klink could expect a rescue from that corner. Especially not now that Adler had been murdered.

Shaking his head, Klink held back a sigh. What was the use, anyway? He wiggled tingling fingers, not certain if it were the cuffs or the cold making them numb. A combination of both, he decided. Fleetingly, he thought of a warm fire and a comfortable couch, but his imagination couldn’t sustain the vision against the chilly reality. He wondered if this was what it would be like on the Russian Front. Except for it being a lot colder and there being Russians with rifles out for German blood, of course.

He thought about it a moment longer before coming to the conclusion that, no, being handcuffed inside a staff car on a winter’s night with a snoring Englander probably wasn’t much like being on the Russian Front at all. He was cold, but he didn’t feel like he was in imminent danger of freezing to death. And there were no trigger happy Russians. Just an Allied Prisoner of War. He glanced at Newkirk. In the dim light, he could just see the prisoner’s face. Judging by the expression there, his sleep was untroubled by either cold or bad dreams. Very peaceful.

His glance turned into a sightless stare as Klink considered him. It was funny, in a sad sort of way, that he’d spoken so intimately to a man who, before tonight, he’d never had an actual conversation with. Granted, he’d had a far more intimate conversation with Sergeant Wilson, a man with whom Klink had spoken even less than Newkirk, but _that_ time it had been more like seeking a professional opinion.

With the Englander, he hadn’t been looking for any opinions, just an answer to a simple question. What Klink had gotten before finally receiving that particular answer had been insulting insinuations mixed with information Klink _hadn’t_ asked for. He wasn’t certain to make of that information. It was strange to think that several of his prisoners were so interested in his circumstances—and not for the enjoyment of seeing their warden brought low. According to Newkirk, they thought that this business with Adler hadn’t been his fault. They were ‘cheering’ for him.

No, it was more than simply strange: it was inconceivable.

Klink just wished he felt worthy of their support, as bizarre and unsettling as that support’s existence was. He’d always felt that he hadn’t had much choice in agreeing to play along with Adler. That wasn’t the part he was ashamed of. That wasn’t the part that brought up bile and self-loathing. If they knew how he’d betrayed himself with Adler...

_‘I’ve never used a man as responsive as you—you really seem to enjoy this.’_

A shudder went through Klink at the memory, and the memory brought with it General Adler, Captain Richter, and what Klink guessed had happened between them. As soon as he realized what he was thinking, he tried to force the thoughts from his mind. Unfortunately, a timely distraction refused to materialize. He felt queasy and almost voyeuristic as his brain dissected the idea against his wishes.

Captain Richter, no, Lieutenant Richter at the time. A young man who had either been lightly-seasoned or had purchased his rank. Perhaps naive. Perhaps cynical. General Adler, a monster who, somehow, seemed at liberty to do as he pleased. A monster who, prior to Klink, had simply taken what he’d wanted by physical force. A monster who had boasted of breaking men on many occasions. Perhaps Richter had been one of those men Adler had broken. Perhaps Richter, if not broken, had been in no condition to do anything but to vow vengeance once Adler had finished.

Klink wondered if the other men who had been standing by Richter’s side tonight had known what Adler had done. At the time, he’d been far too busy being stunned and terrified to think of looking at their reactions to Adler’s words or his own words. But they had to have known: he couldn’t imagine that they’d all agree to murder one of their own superior officers in cold blood without a very good reason for doing so. They had to have known, and they had to have decided to stand by him anyway.

There was no way of knowing what sort of man Richter was when he wasn’t seeking vengeance. Richter could be, and probably was, as cruel and cold and ruthless as many of the other Gestapo soldiers Klink had met. It was very possible that he was a terrible person. Still, Klink felt a measure of warmth towards him anyway. Enough warmth that he didn’t begrudge the Captain his clearly sympathetic allies who were willing to do what needed to be done.

_‘You’ve got the Colonel and Kinch cheering for you.’_

Klink sighed before he could stop himself. That wasn’t even worth thinking about. He leaned back against the seat in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

He succeeded to a degree. It was at least enough to allow him to fall into another doze. He must have, because he was dreaming of voices and chill air seeping into his bones.

“I don’t know _who_ they were,” a whispered voice said, American. “but it wasn’t the simeons.”

“Well, that explains a lot!” a British man whispered back. “But why are you here, sir?”

“I needed to make sure that you were still in one piece. Kinch couldn’t get close enough to see that, so I came to check on things myself.”

The voice, even though hoarsened by the whisper, sounded so familiar. Klink struggled to open his eyes and stared in shock.

“It hasn’t been fun,” Newkirk complained, “but, still here with all the bits.”

“Good,” said the voice from outside the opened window. “Just hold tight for a few more hours. It won’t take much to convince Schultz to look for you, considering how he’s been since Adler and Klink left camp.”

Klink wished that he could have rubbed his eyes, because he could not believe what he was seeing. But why was he shocked? Hogan had _told_ him that he could leave camp whenever he wanted. Quickly, he closed his eyes again. Perhaps it’d be best to pretend he was still asleep. Or maybe he should call attention to the fact that he was actually awake?

“Glad to hear it,” Newkirk said. “But I don’t know if he’ll know where to look for us. I don’t think Klink _could_ have told Schultz where he was going—he took direction from General Poof all the way here.”

Silence. Then, sounding pained. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fed Schultz information. I think we can trust him not to explain where he got the directions from, if he needs them. I’ll talk to him as soon as I can.”

“The sooner the better—it’s bloody cold out here!”

“I know. Are you going to be all right until morning? If Adler weren’t dead, I’d bug Schultz to look for you now.” Hogan sounded frustrated.

“But it looks suspicious enough without Schultz showing up by himself for no reason.” Newkirk finished. “Are you going to call the police? Leave a tip with Hochstetter?”

Another silence. “Newkirk,” he said at last, “you’re brilliant. Hochstetter’s sure to get himself involved in this anyway, and considering the fact that he doesn’t care much for Klink, it’ll work in our favor for him to see that there was no way Klink _could_ have committed the crime.” Klink could almost imagine the smile on the American’s face. “I’d kiss you if I weren’t covered in grease paint.”

“I’d pass anyway, if it’s all the same to you.”

While the Englander’s tone had sounded like Hogan’s had to Klink—playful—, Hogan must have heard something different in the words. “Did something happen?” he asked, his concern plain.

“The fairy got a little fresh is all,” metal hit metal, “nothing I couldn’t handle.”

When Hogan spoke again, he sounded apologetic. “I’ve got to go. The simeons are starting to get nervous, and I don’t want them to leave me here. Will you be all right until morning?”

A low, tired laugh. “We’re not big girl’s blouses here, governor. I think we’ll be fine.” Klink was so surprised to be included in the assurance that he almost missed the next thing the Englander said. “Tell Kinch I think I … I might see where he’s coming from now.”

“Of course, Newkirk.” The Senior POW sounded stunned. “You better roll up that window before it gets any colder in there.”

“Yes, sir.” Klink heard the window being rolled up, and he took advantage of the distraction to turn his head away from the two prisoners. That had been a strange conversation, to be sure. One he hadn’t been meant to hear. At least he knew that Adler’s assassination hadn’t been Hogan’s plan all along. Assuming, of course, that this conversation hadn’t been for his benefit—maybe they’d realized he’d been awake?

But, no. That didn’t make sense either. Corporal Newkirk wouldn’t have been that calm, would he? Hogan hadn’t had time to tell Newkirk about what he’d told Klink, had he? Not with Newkirk being in the cooler. Of course, Hogan had also told him that he could go just about anywhere in camp, so getting into the cooler probably wouldn’t be any more difficult than getting into, say, his quarters!

He heard Newkirk shifting around and did his best to stamp down the panic that had sprung up in response. Even if the Corporal _wanted_ to do anything, being handcuffed as he was, he wouldn’t be able to do more than lay a hand on him. The rationalization worked about as well as it had the first time he’d used it: not at all.

Klink shivered despite himself, wishing that the action was due to the temperature rather than to the thought of the prisoner touching him. Adler was _gone_ now. Dead. Klink hadn’t thought about what things would be like for him afterward, when Adler was dead and he was still alive. While he’d thought about healing and hoped that he’d be able to return to some sort of normalcy, he hadn’t considered how that would happen.

Adler’s death alone hadn’t been enough to temper his paranoia: his fear of the handcuffed prisoner hadn’t diminished in the slightest.

He about jumped out of his skin when a hand came to rest on his knee. A startled cry left his mouth, and his wrists flashed with pain as he tried to back away from the touch. The hand immediately left his person, and Klink was left shaking. He opened his eyes to see a dumbfounded Newkirk gaping at him.

“Kommandant?”

Klink took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down enough to respond. It took entirely too long. “Don’t touch me,” he ordered, his tight throat making the words shrill. “Don’t touch me!”

“All right,” Newkirk said agreeably, his earlier shock replaced by nonchalance.

Wishing _he_ could recover so quickly, Klink snapped, “What do you want?”

Newkirk’s teeth flashed white in the dark. “I was looking through the glove box.” He held up a flask with his uncuffed hand.“I don’t know about you, Kommandant, but _I_ could use a drink.”

In the _glove box_? It was difficult to see the item too clearly, but Klink was almost certain that the flask was one of his. As far as he could recall, he’d never left any of his flasks in any of the cars. He licked his lips, suddenly cognizant of how dry his mouth was. “Wh-what’s in it?”

Unscrewing the cap with one deft movement, Newkirk brought the flask up to his mouth. He grimaced as he swallowed. “Water?” Shrugging, he took another sip. Then he looked over at Klink, frowning. “I’ll have to hold the flask for you, and you’ll need to try to move closer to me.”

At least he was offering to share it. For a moment, Klink’s paranoia fought with his thirst. The paranoia suggested that there was an ulterior motive, that Newkirk wanted him closer so he could reach more. His thirst told his paranoia that, even if that _was_ the case, he was thirsty. Slowly, he slid as close to Newkirk as the cuff on the steering wheel would allow.

If Newkirk understood how difficult the maneuver had been for him, he showed no sign of it. “That should be close enough.” He brought the open flask near Klink’s mouth.

The results had been somewhat messy but Klink had managed to get a few sips before his thirst lost to paranoia and he’d backed away from the Corporal. “Thank you.”

The Englander shrugged and put the cap back on the flask. “No problem.” He set the flask down on the seat next to him and yawned.

Klink watched him settle himself and marveled at his ability to find any comfort in the position he’d selected. He flexed his fingers, feeling them tingle, feeling a flash of pain from his wrists. With the darkness and the sleeves of his jacket covering his wrists, he had no way of knowing what they looked like, but they hurt. Considering the way he’d pulled at the cuffs, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were bruises on his wrists.

He hoped they weren’t bleeding. Even with the assurance that Hogan would be calling Hochstetter to pick them up (a prospect that made Klink distinctly uneasy), it would probably be a few more hours until anyone came by. Still, there wasn’t much he could do about his wrists, and he doubted that he’d bleed to death in the time it took for Hochstetter to find them.

Klink wasn’t worried about being directly blamed for Adler’s death as his pistol, which had fallen off the steering wheel to rest at his feet, had not fired the fatal shot—ballistics would prove that—, but he did have other causes for concern. Dealing with Major Hochstetter and his questioning was unpleasant and stressful even when Klink had nothing to hide. This time, he had quite a lot to hide, and he could not convince himself that there was nothing to fear from the interrogation he would receive for being a witness.

It was easy to think, in an academic way, that all he had to do was tell a truncated version of the truth, but he worried all the same. Would that technical truth be enough to satisfy the Gestapo Major? What if he saw right through it? What if Klink said too much? What if he said enough to make Hochstetter realize he knew more than what he was saying—that there was more to Klink’s involvement than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

If it came to that, what if it came out that Klink hadn’t been the only one involved? What if he said enough to allow the authorities to find Captain Richter? What if he said enough to get Colonel Hogan into trouble?

For all that he was Kommandant of a POW camp and responsible for the lives and welfare of the prisoners in his care and the men under his command, Klink had seldom been called on to do anything truly illegal to protect them. He didn’t regret that he would have to lie by omission to the authorities to protect not only himself but Hogan and his men; he didn’t. But he worried about how well he’d succeed at the task when everything he’d ever tried had ended in failure.

 _Perhaps you should have thought about that before now_ , an acrid inner voice taunted.

He _had_ thought of that before now; unfortunately, there had been nothing he could do but trust in Hogan’s apparent trust in him. Although, it seemed laughable to think Hogan was actually trusting him with any part of this plan—Hogan knew first hand just how complete a failure Klink was. When Hogan was in no doubt directly responsible for the tunnels undermining the camp, how could he not realize what a hopeless case he was dealing with?

Of course, Klink hadn’t been blind to the fact that his successes were far outnumbered by his failures, but he had always managed to supply himself with excuses for it. He’d often think to himself that he had the drive and ambition to succeed, but that the circumstances he was in kept him back. Sometimes, when he was being really, brutally, honest with himself, he knew he lacked the talent he needed, but he still held some hope because, with enough ambition and drive, men who seemed even less competent than he was managed to be promoted.

He’d accepted that he was a coward. He’d accepted that a long time ago. When other men took risks to achieve greatness—or took risks for the _chance_ to do so—, Klink shied away from such things. He wasn’t the sort of man who looked out into the world, saw what he wanted, and did everything in his power to attain it.

No, Klink was the sort of man who was more suited to treading softly and paradoxically hoping not to be noticed and hoping to be noticed enough to reap some reward for doing a good job. Which, when he put it like that, made him realize that he wasn’t quite as driven or as ambitious as he’d thought. Ambitious, driven people did not wait for success to fall into their laps. Besides that, there was the fact that he didn’t even have the competence to do a good job to be _noticed_ for.

He’d never been quite delusional enough to think that ‘just better than abysmal’ was in any way synonymous with ‘just barely adequate’. Still, he’d kept at his career and hoped for the best. After a couple months at Stalag 13, it was like realizing his calling. The first job he’d done that wasn’t _merely_ better than abysmal, but actually _good_. Actually receiving some praise and notice. He’d thought he’d finally found his niche. What a fool he’d been.

Klink sighed and closed his eyes. The fact that being the Kommandant of Stalag 13 was just another failure to add to the veritable mountain of failures was depressing but not a new thought. While it was tempting to wallow in misery, his worries about Major Hochstetter were more pressing. As Hogan had said earlier, the Gestapo Major didn’t like him very much—and although it would be impossible to accuse Klink of _shooting_ Adler, it wouldn’t be impossible for Hochstetter to come up with something else to keep him in custody should he doubt the story Klink told.

But it wouldn’t be only Klink’s story, would it? Klink sat up and looked at Newkirk. How much of the talk between Adler and Richter had the Englander understood? True, when Richter had asked the prisoner to corroborate Klink’s story, he’d acted as though he hadn’t understood German, but that didn’t mean that Newkirk actually didn’t understand. It seemed unlikely that the prisoner wouldn’t pretend not to understand German with Hochstetter as well.

Still, their stories had to _match_ , didn’t they? Klink didn’t plan on telling Hochstetter Richter’s name or the name that Adler had used for the corporal, but who knew what Newkirk planned to tell? Klink’s eyes widened as another consideration came to him. What would the prisoner say about what Klink had told Richter, about the plan of murdering Adler himself? His rational mind told him that the Englander wouldn’t say anything about that, but, as ever, his fears were uninterested in reason.

“Corporal?” The word came out softly. Too softly. He licked his lips as tried again. “Corporal Newkirk?”

The prisoner made a noise somewhere between a grunt and whine.

“Please wake up,” Klink insisted, not wanting to lose his nerve. “Wake up!”

“Nnm?” Newkirk slowly moved away from the door, stretching his free hand over his head. “What is it?” he asked sleepily. “Have we been rescued yet?”

“No.” Now that Newkirk was more or less awake and staring at him, Klink found that he didn’t know how to ask what he wanted to ask. He took a moment to consider the question before just going for it. “What, I mean, what are you going to tell Major Hochstetter, you know, when he comes for us.”

Newkirk had been rubbing his eyes but stopped short. “What makes you think _Hochstetter’ll_ find us?” His tone was mostly annoyed, as though he’d been woken up in the middle of the night to be asked foolish questions, but Klink thought he heard something less calm beneath it.

And Klink realized his mistake. “N-no reason,” he said, trying for unconcerned. “I just was thinking … of who I would _least_ like to come to our rescue.” He laughed awkwardly. “I thought it would be best to prepare myself for the worst!”

“Huh,” Newkirk responded noncommittally. Then he frowned. “What am I going to tell him about what?”

Klink opened his mouth and had been about to answer when he thought better of it. He’d already made one mistake with the prisoner already; he didn’t want to let on that he knew more than he should again! He reconsidered his answer. “Did you understand any names?”

“Names?” Newkirk looked confused and sounded tired. “Outside of ‘schnell!’ and ‘raus!’, I don’t understand German at all.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “What did General Poof say to make that Captain so angry, anyway?”

“I think they knew each other from somewhere,” Klink said slowly, deciding as he spoke that there was no need to share his ideas on just _how_ they knew each other. He didn’t want to think about that anymore, and there was no need to tempt the prisoner into resurrecting their argument. “Adler insulted him, that’s all.”

“Must have been some insult!” Newkirk exclaimed.

“It was.” Quickly, before Newkirk could ask the obvious question, Klink asked another of his own. “What will your story for the authorities be?”

The prisoner’s expression made him look like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Story? I don’t tell _stories_ , Kommandant.” He shook his head with clear distaste. “I didn’t understand a thing _any_ of you krauts said—rude it is, to be having a conversation in German in front of someone who doesn’t speak it!”

“What about when the Captain spoke to you in—?” he broke off, suddenly feeling very stupid.

“I don’t know why he thought I’d understand German better if he started shouting at me,” Newkirk complained. “It wasn’t as though he was saying anything important, was he, Kommandant?”

“Right,” Klink affirmed, his heart growing lighter. “He didn’t say anything important at all.”

“Best not even to mention it then.”

It was all Klink could do not to thank him. “Of course, you’re right.” He forced a laugh. “No need to waste Hochstetter’s time with something so unimportant.”

The Englander nodded sagely. “I’m glad we’ve got that taken care of.”

Silence stretched between them. Klink looked away first. “I hope I can actually do this,” he said quietly.

While he hadn’t actually directed the comment to Newkirk, Newkirk clearly thought otherwise. “Do what? Seems to me that dealing with Hochstetter will be the easy part of this.”

The incredible statement forced a startled laugh from Klink. “You think so?”

“Stands to reason, don’t it?” Newkirk said, his tone light. “What’s the worst Hochstetter’s going to do? Yell at you? He doesn’t have proof of anything but the fact that you _didn’t_ do General Poof in.” Metal hit metal. “Just stick to the facts, and he can’t touch you.”

Klink turned his head to look at him. He felt himself smile as the knot in his stomach untied itself. The Corporal was _right_. Hochstetter wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him unless he had something solid. Besides that, he had endured a whipping from Adler without breaking; was Hochstetter screaming at him really worse than _that_? “You’re absolutely right. You’re a great help. Thank you.”

His thanks received no response from the prisoner. Instead, Newkirk merely stared at Klink intently, his intent lost in the darkness.

Klink stared back, feeling his throat tighten. While he couldn’t see the other man’s expression well enough to know what it was, he couldn’t help but imagine that there was some malice there. Silence stretched between them as he waited for the other man to say whatever it was he was thinking of. As the seconds ticked by, Klink’s paranoia suggested that Newkirk was planning to do something besides stare.

“I don’t like you,” the prisoner said suddenly, an almost hostile note in his tone. “You’re still a ruddy Jerry, and I’m not planning to forget it! I’m not going to start getting all chummy with you; I’m not your mate. You understand me?”

Even though his heart started to pick up its tempo at the confrontational words, Klink was more perplexed by them than anything else. Taking into account the fact that the longest conversation he’d ever had with this man to date was a heated argument about whether or not Klink had wanted Adler to force himself on him, Klink wasn’t under the delusion that the Englander had any particular fondness for him.

He certainly hadn’t ever thought to entertain the idea that the prisoner was his friend. “Perfectly,” he said, pleased that his own tone sounded calm and unconcerned, “but why did you think you needed to tell me that, Corporal?”

“I don’t want you to think I mean more than what I’m saying,” Newkirk explained, his exasperation making as little sense as his words.

“What _are_ you saying?” Klink ventured cautiously.

Newkirk glared. “I’m saying—” he interrupted the angry sounding statement with a sigh. “I’m saying,” he started again, his tone more composed but still clipped, “I was wrong, all right? I shouldn’t have said what I said about you and Adler,” the words were spoken quickly, as though he were anxious to be rid of them, “and I’m sorry.”

The last thing Klink had expected from the prisoner had been an apology. “I see,” he said, his amazement and confusion not allowing him to say something a bit more appropriate. Even though he didn’t know the man well, it was clear from the way he’d done it that this apology had cost him. Knowing that, he forced himself to say something more. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Newkirk waved his free hand airily, as though the matter were wholly unimportant. “Don’t mention it. To anyone. Ever.” The commands were delivered in a light tone. “I’m going to nip a bit of a kip, Kommandant,” he said as he turned his body to lay against the car door. “Wake me when we get rescued.”

“Of course.” Klink closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, doing his best to follow the Corporal’s example. Although he was still anxious about what tomorrow would bring, he did feel a measure of peace about the whole thing. After everything Adler had put him through, dealing with Hochstetter in the morning would be child’s play. He wasn’t certain of this in his heart of hearts, but he held on to the thought as he drifted away.

* * *

The sound of someone knocking on his window jerked him awake. Klink blinked dumbly for a moment and then smiled. He’d never been so happy to see Major Hochstetter in his life.


	66. Untangling the Web

Going to the scene himself had been a risk, of course, but Hogan had to see for himself what had really happened tonight. While he still didn’t have a concrete answer to that question despite the visit, he at least knew that Newkirk and Klink were still in one piece. He would have liked to have done more for them than leave a flask of water, but there hadn’t been anything else he’d brought and it wouldn’t have been safe to leave anything else there anyway. Blankets, for instance, would have been out of the question!

At least it hadn’t been too cold to snow. It wouldn’t be a pleasant wait for them, but they should come out of it without any frostbite. The snow should also be enough to cover whatever tracks he’d made. It had been enough to leave a thin shroud on top of Adler’s body.

As much as the Gestapo General had deserved a messy end, Hogan would have rather things had gone to plan. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing yet just _why_ it _hadn’t_ gone to plan: sometime during his struggle with the SS men, Adler had been clocked in the jaw, and Newkirk’s German hadn’t been up to the task of compensating for the General’s slurred speech. All Newkirk knew was that the Captain who’d shot Adler had asked Adler’s name several times, had gotten furiously angry with whatever Adler had said, had kicked Adler in the stomach a few times, and had proceeded to shoot Adler in the head. Three times.

More than just a simple execution. Even with the Captain acting as though he was doing Berlin a favor, what with his instruction to Klink to ‘tell Berlin that their little embarrassment has been taken care of’, there was far too much anger in the violence the Captain had inflicted for Adler’s murder _not_ to have been personal. That much anger required a history.

He’d have to ask Klink if _he’d_ been able to understand just what sort of history this Captain and the General had had once the Kommandant was back in camp.

Hogan was surprised to find Kinch waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder, seated in one of the chairs. The radioman looked tired, anxious, and strangely grim. Had he been waiting here for news about Newkirk since Hogan had gone? “Kinch,” he greeted as he let go of the ladder, “what brings you here?”

Kinch was frowning. “Is Newkirk all right?”

Nailed it. “All in one piece,” Hogan said cheerfully. “He said that Adler got a little fresh with him, but he seemed all right.”

“And the Kommandant? Is he all right, too?” Kinch’s questions were flat.

“The Kommandant, too, as far as I could tell.” Hogan shrugged easily, as though he hadn’t noticed Kinch’s tone. “It’s not like I woke him up so we could chat.” When Kinch’s expression didn’t change, he returned a concerned version of the Sergeant’s frown. “Is something wrong?”

Kinch hesitated before coming to his feet, the movement slow but powerful. The calm before the storm. He stood at his full height. “I think you told the Kommandant something about our operation.” 

Oh. There were several ways to play this, but Hogan was acutely aware that, if he tried covering his tracks on this now, it would make things more difficult between him and Kinch when he finally came clean. So, there was no question about telling the truth now, but Hogan wanted to know what exactly had given him away. “What makes you think that?” he asked in his innocent tone.

The flare of anger in Kinch’s eyes told him that the tone might have been a mistake. “It stinks to the high heavens,” he said sharply. “I had my suspicions this morning when you told me that _flimsy_ plan Klink accepted, but I was finally able to put all the pieces together tonight when you called the Kommandant one of us.”

Part of Hogan was professionally insulted that Kinch had found his cover plan flimsy,but most of him was simply taken aback. It wasn’t like Kinch to make such leaps in logic. “That was a slip of the tongue.” Which it had been, even if Hogan had decided, with what he’d told the Kommandant and Klink’s own part in the scheme, that it had been apt in this case. “Is that all you’re going on, Kinch?”

Kinch shook his head. “Everything that was strange about the conversation I heard this morning only makes sense if you told the Kommandant something you didn’t want any of us to know you told him.”

He started ticking the points off on his fingers. “You asked me what I heard and then told me that what I’d missed had been unimportant: why even ask me when you could have just told me what you told me? There was that flimsy plan you claimed you got the Kommandant to accept: even Klink isn’t stupid enough to believe he’d get away with murdering a member of the Gestapo without consequences. And then there was that silence between you and Klink before you went to his quarters that hadn’t made any sense: what exactly was Klink _doing_ while you were rambling?” He glared. “And isn’t it awfully convenient that he moved the conversation to a place where no one could hear you?”

It was all circumstantial but pretty damning all the same when it was laid out like that. Hogan had to smile in appreciation: he should’ve known Kinch would be able to figure it out on his own. “Did you tell anyone else your suspicions?”

“Not yet.” Kinch crossed his arms. “I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Well, that some good news. “Do you mind if I sit, Kinch? I’ve had a long night.”

Kinch’s glare softened a little. “No.”

Once he was seated, Hogan considered his words carefully. If Kinch couldn’t be convinced to accept what he’d done, none of the men could. Considering the fact that he was already on shaky ground, he decided that being circumspect was the wrong tact to take. “You’re right. I did tell Klink something about the operation.”

Not waiting for the obvious question, he continued, “He didn’t accept my cover plan; you were right about that, too. He wanted to know what my _real_ plan was, because he couldn’t believe that I’d taken the time he’d given me to come up with what I told him.

“I wrote him a note—that’s what the silence was. Once we were in his quarters, I laid it on the line. I told him that if he was still loyal to the Reich, he’d have to kill me. And he told me that he wasn’t going to have me shot for trying to save his life. I believed him.”

Kinch wasn’t glaring now, but he still looked unhappy. “What did you tell him about us?”

An angry Kinch had been worrying; an unhappy one could be reasoned with. “Not a lot,” Hogan said honestly. “I told him the bare bones of our actual plan. I told him that Adler would end in up in London. And I showed him the tunnel under his stove to prove that I could actually do what I said.” He raised his hand to stall the protest Kinch had been about to make. “I know, it’s enough to sink us if he wanted to and we let him. But it’s not like this is the first time I’ve trusted Klink to keep his mouth shut—he’s good at that when it comes to saving his own skin, and you know it.”

For a moment, Hogan thought Kinch was going to be angry again before the radioman sighed deeply and took the chair across from Hogan. “And when were you planning on telling _us_?”

Success! Hogan kept his expression impassive. “After the dust had settled a little bit.” He shrugged. “I knew I’d _have_ to tell you—a secret like this can’t be kept.” He allowed himself a wry smile. “Obviously.”

Kinch’s lips turned up in response before settling back into a line. “Why take that risk for Klink? You told me that he’s of no use to us.”

“You think I should have let him kill himself for our sake then?” Hogan was careful to sound nonchalant about the prospect, hoping that a non-challenging tone would defuse Kinch’s anger enough for him to see it from his perspective. “Is that what you would have done in my place?”

The questions stopped Kinch cold. His brow furrowed in discomfort as he considered his answer. “No, probably not.” His discomfort turned to suspicion. “But you’re not me, sir. Forgive me for saying so, but you’ve never struck me as overly sentimental.” Determination entered his eyes. “You’ve taken a big risk with our lives. With my life. I want to know why you did it.”

Hogan was surprised that Kinch hadn’t figured this part out on his own, too. He had to have expected something like this to happen when giving Hogan his advice. Perhaps he just wanted to hear him say it. Although, thinking back, Hogan was almost certain he’d already admitted it once in front of the Sergeant already. “I care about him, and I didn’t want him to kill himself.”

Rather than seem pleased by the news, or maybe just pleased about having had one up on his commander, Kinch seemed merely confused. “Sir?”

The confusion was fairly comical considering how unequivocal Hogan had made the statement. Of course, it was possible that Kinch just didn’t understand how Hogan had arrived at his conclusion after spending so long acting as though Klink were at fault for everything. Some explanation wouldn’t hurt, he supposed. “Well, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking things over. You know it’s been hard for me to decide how to feel about this whole Adler mess.”

“I’ll say,” Kinch said dryly.

“I ended up thinking a lot about Klink, too,” Hogan went on, ignoring the sarcasm, “and why I wanted to save him. Why I want him to get back to himself again. And, in the end, I realized that I care about him. That I wanted him alive and well for _his_ sake rather than mine.” He shrugged, trying to hide his discomfort with the emotional topic with nonchalance. “That’s all there is to it.”

Kinch stared at Hogan with undisguised shock. “Are you honestly telling me that you’re... that this thing with the Kommandant is personal?” There was a faint undercurrent of dismay in the Sergeant’s voice. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

The combination of the tone and the expression got on Hogan’s last nerve. “Kinch, _you’re_ the one who told me that I’d have to get Klink to open up to keep him here—how did you _think_ that was going to happen?” When the Sergeant had no ready response, he shook his head. “I can do false sympathy for anyone, but _real_ sympathy is a whole lot harder to get from me if I don’t give a damn about you. In order to follow your advice, I _have_ to care about him at least a little bit.”

“You’re right,” Kinch admitted quietly, looking abashed. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it.” His smile was apologetic. “It’s been a long night for me, too.”

Hogan returned it. “I’ll say.”

Kinch’s own smile dimmed as his expression became thoughtful. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in a deep breath. It came out as a sigh. When he opened his eyes, a wariness had entered them. “You’re not going to let your feelings interfere with what we do here, are you?”

“No.” Hogan didn’t even have to think about it. “The way we go about doing things might have to change, but we’re still going to be in business.” He resolutely returned Kinch’s searching gaze. “I care about what happens to Klink, and I’m planning to do what I can to help him, but the mission will always come first.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” There was relief in the Sergeant’s expression but some of the earlier worry remained. “It just makes everything more complicated.”

Hogan had to laugh at that. “What _hasn’t_ been complicated since this Adler mess started?”

Kinch didn’t share his amusement. “I don’t think the others are going to be very happy about this, sir.”

 _Tell me something I don’t know_ , Hogan thought but didn’t say. There was no need to bring sarcasm into this just now. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I wanted to wait a while—so emotions had time to cool.” He looked away from Kinch, not liking to be so manipulative of his second in command but unable to see any way around it. “Will you give me a little time to figure out how to break it to them?”

Silence. Then: “You’re going to tell them he knows eventually.”

Hogan shifted his gaze back to Kinch, surprised. Apparently, when the time came to be honest, the admission he’d made about caring for Klink wasn’t part of what Kinch thought they should know. Just as well, of course: they’d have a hard enough time accepting all of this as it was! “Of course,” he said with genuine sincerity. “I don’t think I’m going to make it common knowledge in the underground, but I plan to tell at least Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau.” He shrugged. “Depending on what the Klink situation looks like later on, I may tell more people.”

While still not completely mollified, Kinch no longer looked upset. “All right, sir. I won’t tell them anything before you do.” Then he frowned. “I’d make it sooner rather than later, though. If they figure it out on their own somehow, it’ll make things a lot harder for you.”

“Don’t I know it!” Then, more seriously, Hogan asked the important question. “Can I still depend on your support, Kinch?”

Kinch considered it for a long enough moment to make Hogan worry that, perhaps, the answer was ‘no’. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, sir.” His smile was faint. “I probably would have done what you did. I just wish you had trusted me enough before to tell me yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Standing, Kinch shook his head. “You’re not, but thank you anyway.” He yawned into his hand. “I contacted London about the spilled kraut. No answer yet, of course.”

“Of course,” Hogan echoed faintly. It wasn’t often he felt actual guilt, but he’d never liked it. He brushed the feeling away to examine later: there was still business to be attended to. “Around 0630, I want you to contact Hochstetter’s office and leave him a tip.” At Kinch’s questioning look, he explained, “Since Adler’s been murdered, Klink and Newkirk are stranded until someone picks them up.”

“Why are they stranded?” Kinch asked. “Did those Gestapo do something to the car?”

Hogan shook his head. “From what Newkirk could tell, they took the keys with them. Newkirk’s handcuffed to a seat, and Klink’s handcuffed to the steering-wheel: neither of them is going _anywhere_ until someone comes by with a hacksaw.” He smiled. “Newkirk suggested that we have Hochstetter do the honors for us.”

Kinch was nodding. “He doesn’t care much for Klink, so having some proof that Klink couldn’t have done it will be useful.” He frowned. “What should I tell Hochstetter when I call?”

“Nothing too specific.” Hogan had given the problem some thought on his way back from Newkirk and Klink. “Tell him that there’s a surprise for him on Grafweg. That ought to be enough to whet his appetite, and he should know the area well enough to find the road.” He shrugged. “If you tell him someone’s been murdered, he’ll come prepared for an investigation—the less prepared he is, the better it is for us.”

“Consider it done.” Kinch yawned.

Hogan stood, stretching his back. Tomorrow, outside of Kinch’s call to Hochstetter, was more or less out of his hands. Although, there was one other thing he wanted Kinch to do. “I’d like you to start checking on Nowak as soon as possible. I want to know if he’s having problems settling in because of Adler.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know.” Kinch yawned again. “Though,” his tone was suddenly deadpan, “that _might_ have to wait until daybreak, sir.”

“Naturally,” Hogan agreed, allowing himself a smirk. “What say you and I get some shut-eye in the meantime?” He glanced down at his watch and noted the time: almost 5:30. “Well, an hour’s worth, anyway.”

Kinch grinned. “Nothing new for us.”

That much was sure as shooting. Hogan clapped Kinch on the shoulder as they made their way back up to the barracks proper. Although tomorrow had its share of uncertainties and tonight hadn’t gone exactly as planned, he couldn’t help but feel that, finally, everything would turn out right.


	67. Lukewarm Case

Hochstetter had barely sat down at his desk that morning before his telephone had started to ring. The call had turned out to be from the Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. Gestapo didn’t generally waste time on pleasantries and this call was no exception to that rule: it had been brief and to the point. Later that day, Hochstetter could expect the arrival of a Colonel Schmidt to take over the investigation.

Which was fine. It was always exciting to having higher ranking members of his branch of service around—someday, _one_ of them was sure to be impressed with the evidence he’d found concerning the strange goings on at Stalag 13. Even if it meant being temporarily supplanted, he looked forward to learning some new techniques or skills he could use later on.

The only problem was that he had no idea what this investigation Colonel Schmidt would be taking over was. When he’d confessed his ignorance on that point, the man on the telephone had refused to share any details. Just keep alert and wait.

So, he was impatiently waiting. To pass the time, he decided to take a look at the mail Corporal Lang had brought him before the telephone call from Berlin. He’d gone through two unimportant missives before the telephone rang again.

He frowned and lifted the receiver from its cradle. “Gestapo—”

“There is a surprise on Grafweg outside of Hammelburg,” a clipped male voice interrupted. “Go and find it.” Then the line went dead.

Hochstetter blinked. Then he pressed the switched in the receiver’s cradle. “Operator? Can you connect me to the last person who called here?”

Silence. “I’m sorry, sir,” the operator apologized. “I don’t know where it came from.”

“I see,” he said distractedly, his mind already racing ahead. He hung up the receiver and stood. While the call could be a prank of some sort, ignoring it completely seemed unwise. _Still_ , he thought as he flipped through the rest of his mail, _no point in going myself_. He could send one of his lieutenants to take a look around once he was finished here.

The very last envelope in the mail pile gave him pause. It was small, about the size of an index card, and the word “URGENT” was hastily scrawled on the top. No stamp, no address. Picking it up, the lumpy feel and appearance told him that the envelope contained something besides paper. Finding that the envelope was unsealed, he tipped out its contents. Three keys and a slip of paper fell into his palm.

Two of the keys looked like they belonged to a set of handcuffs, and the third looked like a car key. He read the terse note written on the paper with a deepening frown. “Proceed directly to Grafweg. There is a message for Berlin waiting for you.” There was no signature.

Grafweg again? Hochstetter was familiar enough with Hammelburg to know where the road was. He was also familiar enough with the area to know that there was nothing on that road but an abandoned shack at the end of it. What could possibly be so important there? Perhaps he ought to go check on this personally. The Colonel from Berlin wasn’t due to arrive for another four hours, so he had plenty of time to drive down to Grafweg and take a look around. And if this message and the call he’d received were related to whatever Berlin’s investigation was connected to—which Hochstetter was beginning to suspect from the timing alone—, so much the better.

However, before he rushed off to discover whatever message was waiting for him on Grafweg, he wanted to know where _this_ message that he was still holding in his hand had come from first. Since it hadn’t come through the mail, it must have been delivered. He pocketed the keys and went to the front desk. The smell of cigarettes assailed him as he approached the woman who worked the desk early in the morning. Frau Sommer didn’t appear to notice his arrival until he set the envelope down in front of her. Even then, she didn’t look up until he spoke. “Do you recognize this?”

Frau Sommer picked it up with clear disinterest. Her brow furrowed slightly as she examined the writing. “Yes, sir,” she said at last. “An SS Corporal brought it in, saying that it was from a General Adler.”

The name meant nothing to Hochstetter. “How long ago was this?”

She considered it. “Maybe an hour ago?” she hazarded, sounding utterly unconcerned.

“Did you get the Corporal’s name?”

A shrug. “I didn’t ask.”

There were times when it was a benefit to have such an incurious secretary. Now was not one of those times. “Is there _anything_ you can tell me about him?” Hochstetter tried and failed to hide his frustration.

She glared at him for a moment. Then the boredom returned. “He sounded like a Berliner,” she said in an off-hand sort of way. “I told him he was a bit far from home.”

Turning her attention back to the forms she’d been working on, she shrugged again. “He told me he was on leave for the next few days.” The end of her pen nestled between her lips, and she nibbled on it thoughtfully. “He seemed awfully nervous for a young man on leave, I thought.”

Now Hochstetter was sure: this couldn’t be a coincidence. A call from Berlin, an envelope from someone from Berlin about a message for Berlin, and, while that anonymous telephone call had no obvious ties to that city, it _did_ have a tie with Grafweg as the note had had. True, this was all circumstantial, but it was enough for Hochstetter to decide that he would be wise to bring someone else along to cover his back.

Since speed was of the essence, he took the first three men he came across (Corporals Lang and Holtz, as well as Sergeant Fuchs) and ordered them to accompany him. As he made his way to the motor pool with his visibly confused but professionally unquestioning subordinates, he couldn’t deny a feeling of excitement. It felt like a long time since the problem he had to solve had nothing to do with Colonel Hogan and Stalag 13. 

* * *

“Stop here,” Hochstetter ordered Corporal Lang.

“Yes, sir.” The Corporal complied, bringing the truck to a stop well short of the abandoned staff car in the middle of the road. The truck’s headlights were left on to give them more light: while dawn was in full swing, the sun had yet to rise. Armed with pistols and flashlights, Hochstetter and his men made their approach.

It was with a fair amount of trepidation that the approach was made, at least, on Hochstetter’s part. After all, he’d been lured here with the combination of an anonymous call and an anonymous note; it was entirely possible that the message he’d been sent to find was actually a trap. He walked gingerly, doing his best not to drag his feet through the inch and a half of snow in case there were trip wires concealed there.

As he rounded the side of the car, a large, oddly shaped, snow-covered lump was caught in the beam of his flashlight. Coming closer to the thing, he noticed a reddish slush near the part of the lump closest to him. In the Gestapo, one became accustom to certain sights. Hochstetter knew blood when he saw it, and there seemed to be quite a bit of the stuff.

He crouched down and gently brushed snow away from the hump in the middle of the shape, expecting confirmation of his suspicions. That confirmation was immediate as he exposed a pair of handcuffed hands and the ends of dark uniform sleeves. Brushing away a little more snow revealed buttons that marked the sleeves as belonging to a Gestapo uniform.

“There is someone in the car, sir!”

As focused as he’d been on the body, Hochstetter was startled by Sergeant Fuch’s unexpected exclamation. “What?”

“Luftwaffe, I think,” Fuchs said as he finished wiping the driver side window clear of snow. “A Colonel.”

Hochstetter came up from his crouch with deliberate slowness. A Luftwaffe Colonel. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. A sort of incredulous anger filled him as he stalked back to the car to rejoin the Sergeant. Even as he told himself that the idea was too coincidental to be feasible, he knew—knew!—exactly who he would be seeing in that staff car. Could nothing happen that had _nothing_ to do with that damned camp! He shined the flashlight into the window.

The answer to that seemed to be no. Colonel Klink, Kommandant of Stalag 13 was indeed sitting in the driver’s seat. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. If he had any wounds, they weren’t obvious.

So, still alive then. At least there was a witness to whatever had happened. Hochstetter knocked on the window.

Klink stirred and stared at him. Then he smiled, looking fairly idiotic in his relief.

“Sergeant,” Hochstetter ordered, not taking his eyes off of the Luftwaffe Colonel, “I want you to start taking pictures. Take pictures of everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

The flashlights and the camera’s flash should be enough to take clear pictures—time was wasting.

When Hochstetter opened the staff car door to release Colonel Klink (since the man seemed in no hurry to get out of the car himself), two important facts became immediately apparent: the Kommandant was handcuffed to the steering wheel, and he wasn’t alone. Sleeping against the passenger side door was what looked like a British POW. Another glance confirmed this. He recognized him, too: it was the Englander he saw with Colonel Hogan so often.

“Major Hochstetter,” Klink said, his somewhat raspy voice snapping Hochstetter’s attention back to the handcuffed man, “thank God you’ve arrived.”

He sounded like he meant it. Hochstetter glared at him. “What’s happened here?” Before Klink could answer, he gestured to the bloody lump under the snow. “Who is that?”

“General Adler.”

Now the body had a name. A familiar name. Seeing as the man in question was currently dead, it seemed very unlikely that Adler had actually been the one to send him that ‘URGENT’ note. It didn’t take much cleverness to realize what that meant.

That Gestapo Corporal who’d delivered the note might have been this General’s killer.

One of the many questions that left was the matter of the message that was supposed to be waiting for him here. Was the General’s corpse that message? If so, the meaning wasn’t especially clear.

“What happened here?” he repeated as he selected one of the handcuff keys from his pocket.

“The General and I were ambushed,” Klink explained. He tensed up as Hochstetter leaned in to try out the key. “Th-they were dressed like SS, so I stopped the car. A captain shot him.”

Hochstetter noted Klink’s discomfort and filed it away for later. “How many were there?” He reached into his pocket to trade keys.

“Five.”

This time, the key was correct. “I see.” There were more questions to be asked, of course, but that could wait until he had Klink in a proper interrogation room. Also, he was certain that what had happened here had everything to do with whatever investigation the man from Berlin had been talking about this morning; it would probably be best to wait until the contingent from Berlin arrived before he did anything more with his witnesses.

Klink was rubbing his rather raw looking wrists with a blissful look on his face. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” he commented.

“How long have you been here?”

Abruptly, the Colonel tensed up. Slowly, he turned to face Hochstetter. “I-I’m not sure. What time is it now?”

A quick glance at his watch. “0705.”

It was almost painful to watch the man sort out the calculations. “Then it’s been about ten hours,” he said at last. He hesitated, his face flushing. “I, ah, I need to relieve myself.”

Choices seemed limited. “Corporal Lang!” Hochstetter shouted. When the Corporal presented himself, Hochstetter told him to take the Colonel to the woods and make certain that the man’s business did not include ditching evidence. While Klink seemed both embarrassed and strangely worried about this, he made no objections. Hochstetter noticed the older man’s somewhat unsteady gait and put it down to having spent the last ten hours sitting in the same place.

“I could use the loo myself.”

Hochstetter turned his attention to the Englander who must have woken up some time during his conversation with Klink. The British Corporal smiled cheekily at him and waved a hand. His other hand was cuffed to the seat frame. “You’ll have to wait your turn.” He was about to go over to the passenger side to uncuff him when he noticed something on the floor by the pedals.

He picked the Luger up from where it lay. A quick examination told him that it was an older model, not particularly well-cared for, and, if the dust in the barrel was anything to go by, not fired recently. Still, considering the fact that there had been a murder where, apparently, the victim had been shot, its presence was suspicious.

Sending the POW out with Corporal Holtz, Hochstetter considered what he’d learned so far. According to Colonel Klink, there had been an ambush by men in SS uniforms. One of the men had shot General Adler. Ten hours ago. Much later, an SS corporal had come to headquarters with a message from the dead man. He wondered why, after taking the huge risk of delivering a message in person, one of the conspirators would bother making an anonymous telephone call as well.

When Corporal Lang returned with the Colonel in tow, Hochstetter asked the Luftwaffe officer about the Luger he’d found.

“Oh, that,” Klink said nervously. “It’s mine. You, ah, you never know when you might need one.”

“Seems that you could have used it last night,” Hochstetter commented, idly voicing his thought aloud.

“I didn’t shoot General Adler!”

Blinking, he stared at Klink, surprised by his vehemence. “I only meant that it could have been useful when you were ambushed.” He shook his head and put the Luger in his pocket. “Never mind.” He’d have ample opportunity to listen to the man’s excuses during the interrogation.

“Corporal, put Colonel Klink in the back of the truck.”

Lang saluted. “Do you want him cuffed, sir?”

He considered the Colonel standing in front of him and decided to be merciful. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Lang left with Colonel Klink. Hochstetter noticed, when the older man’s footing slipped and the Corporal caught his arm, that Klink’s posture went rigid. He wondered, as he watched Klink wrench his arm away, why the Kommandant was acting so skittish. With a mental shrug, he filed it away and turned his attention to the man approaching him.

“I’m out of film, sir,” Fuchs reported, holding the camera aloft as though the fact it was out of film was visibly obvious. “Shall I move the body?”

Hochstetter nodded. “There’s a tarp in the back of the truck you and Corporal Lang can wrap him in. He was shot, so watch for spent casings.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Actually getting the body into the truck had been a bit more complicated than Hochstetter had anticipated. The trouble started when the snow was cleared away and the General’s face was exposed to the light of the slowly rising sun. Well, what was left of his face. Corporal Lang had vomited, and Sergeant Fuchs had looked close to doing the same.

While not squeamish, Hochstetter had to admit tacitly that he hadn’t been prepared for such a mess either. Head wounds could be messy, of course, especially gunshot wounds at close range. But this! This seemed excessive. Either he’d been shot more than once or the Captain had used a shotgun.

Once the men had recovered, there came the next problem. Rigor mortis or cold or both had made the corpse difficult to maneuver onto the tarp. Lifting the body also proved difficult: Adler had been a large man and solidly built. No doubt he’d been an impressive specimen when he’d been alive; now that he was dead, well, he was just a heavy weight.

Between the three of them, Sergeant Fuchs and Corporals Lang and Holtz (who’d just finished taking care of the Englander) managed to manhandle the tarp wrapped body into the back of the truck.

“Don’t care much for the company,” the Englander Corporal quipped.

“I-I think I might be sick,” the Luftwaffe Colonel breathed.

Rolling his eyes, Hochstetter slammed the door closed. He looked to his men. While they’d gotten quite a bit of evidence considering the snow cover—two witnesses, a body, pictures, and the two 9mm shell casings they’d found while moving the body—the scene was hardly processed to Hochstetter’s satisfaction. They’d done nothing with the staff car yet, for instance. However, Adler’s autopsy was long over-due as it was.

Not that the cause of death was a great mystery: Klink’s testimony, the shell casings, and Adler’s head wounds made a compelling circumstantial case. Still, it was best to do these things by the book—especially when he was certain that _this_ was why Colonel Schmidt was coming.

“Sergeant Fuchs, Corporal Holtz, you will stay here. I will send more men to continue looking for evidence. Until then, stay here and make certain that this site remains unspoiled. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

The time spent waiting for Schmidt’s arrival was not wasted. More men were sent to Grafweg to continue searching for evidence. The pictures Fuch’s had taken were developed. The corpse received a long over-due autopsy. The Kommandant’s pistol was test fired and the casings were compared to those found at the scene.

Hochstetter was not the least bit surprised to learn that the ballistics test proved that Colonel Klink’s Luger had not fired the bullet that had gone into the General’s head. After all, the man was a coward and, even ignoring _that_ , he’d been handcuffed to the steering wheel of his own staff car. Granted, Klink was also an idiot, but shooting a general and handcuffing himself to a staff car with _the murder weapon in his possession_? Well, that was even too idiotic for _him_.

Mindful of the fact that his witnesses were the main evidence he had for his investigation, he’d made certain that both were fed. Medical care had been offered but refused. In the case of the Englander, it made sense, for the POW had no obvious injuries that needed tending. In the case of Colonel Klink, it made no sense at all. The man was limping, his wrists were rubbed raw from being in cuffs, and he had bruising around his throat—he must have been attacked during the ambush, but he rebuffed all offers at examination with enough vehemence that Hochstetter saw little gain in forcing the matter.

* * *

At 0900 sharp, Colonel Schmidt arrived. That he would come alone, without an entourage or even an aide of his own, was a little odd, but Hochstetter didn’t care too much about that sort of thing. What was important was learning what the man had come here to investigate. To that end, Hochstetter had quickly ushered him into his office.

Schmidt turned out to be tall, almost lanky, with dull brown hair and piercing brown eyes. He was clearly tired, and there was an annoyed look on his face, as though there were a small pebble in his boot that he couldn’t take the time to dislodge. When he spoke, after a long intent stare, his voice was soft. “What did Berlin tell you concerning my visit here?”

“That you were here to conduct an investigation,” Hochstetter answered simply. “I was not told anything specific. Only that I was to keep alert and wait for you.”

“Hmm.” Schmidt sat down in the chair in front of Hochstetter’s desk. He set the suitcase he’d been carrying down on the floor beside him. “There appears to be an investigation underway here already.”

Clearly in no hurry to share information. Cagey. Hochstetter approved. “There is. A body was discovered on an abandoned road near the outside of town.”

“Are the local police not in charge of such things here?”

“They are, usually. However, in this case, we were the one’s contacted.” Hochstetter retrieved the note he’d received this morning from his desk and handed it to Schmidt. “This came to us this morning, and I received an anonymous telephone call with a similar message.”

Schmidt examined the note. “What did the caller tell you?”

Hochstetter thought back. “That there was a surprise waiting for me on Grafweg.”

This answer seemed to surprise the Colonel. “So, the telephone call did not mention this note?” When Hochstetter shook his head, Schmidt returned the note. “What did you find when you arrived?”

Hochstetter explained that he’d found a body wearing a Gestapo general’s uniform, two witnesses, along with some shell casings. He mentioned that the witnesses were the Kommandant of Stalag 13, a local Prisoner of War camp, and an Englander corporal who was a prisoner from that same camp. Neither man had been officially interrogated yet, but the Kommandant claimed that the dead man was General Adler and that the man had been murdered by a group of SS soldiers. Unfortunately, there had been no identification papers on the body, so Hochstetter couldn’t confirm the identity the Kommandant had given him. 

Schmidt took in this story with clear interest.

Hochstetter had to smile. “I take it that your investigation has something to do with mine.”

A slow nod. “This morning, we received an anonymous telephone call which revealed the location of a note directing us to where you discovered the body.” He leaned back in the chair and reached into his pocket. “Strange that whoever left these notes would change their modus operendi between here and Berlin.” Pulling out a cigarette case, he glanced up. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

He did mind for several reasons, not the least of which being that the Führer himself was against the habit. Still, one had to be willing to bend the rules for authority from time to time. “No.”

“Thank you.” Schmidt lit a cigarette and took a deep drag off it. Smoke spilled from his mouth as he slipped the case back into his pocket. “Perhaps something unexpected happened.”

Hochstetter wasn’t quite certain what to make of that statement but elected to hide his ignorance. “May I see the note you received?”

Wordlessly, Schmidt bent down and picked up his suitcase. He opened it, rummaged around a bit, and plucked up a piece of folded paper. He held it out for Hochstetter to take.

Hochstetter took the paper and unfolded it. The first thing that struck him was that the handwriting was horrible, as though a child who hadn’t quite learned his letters had drawn it. With a fair amount of effort, he deciphered the scrawl. “Attention. Justice has spoken in Hammelburg. Proceed directly to Grafweg to hear its voice.” Brow furrowing with consternation, he spoke his first thought aloud. “Justice for what?”

Silence stretched as Schmidt smoked. Ashes drifted down to the carpet. “What do you know about General Adler?”

Confused by the question his question had received, Hochstetter frowned. “Nothing,” he admitted at last, annoyed for having to do so. Was this General someone he was _supposed_ to know? He knew that he’d been somewhat preoccupied with getting to the bottom of all the underground activity around here, but he hadn’t thought he’d been missing anything important in Berlin. It seemed that he’d have to be more careful in the future to keep an eye and ear on the capital.

Then again, the internal politics of Berlin could be mystifying even when one’s full attention was focused on them. While the infighting could be useful to one’s career, that part of it held very little interest for Hochstetter. The job was what was important, not petty personal—

“I’m familiar with the man,” Schmidt said at last, breaking Hochstetter’s train of thought. “I could identify the body.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hochstetter said. If there _was_ something important he needed to know about the dead General, it would be good to have some confirmation that Adler was _actually_ dead! “I warn you,” he continued as Schmidt stood, “that the General’s face is not in good condition.”

Schmidt seemed utterly unconcerned about the prospect. “If his face is too badly damaged for me to recognize him,” he picked up his suitcase, “the finger prints and dental records I brought should be enough to be certain.”

Well, that was convenient. Too convenient. “You knew General Adler was dead,” Hochstetter stated, making certain that it was _only_ a statement and not an accusation.

A flash of something impressed. “His papers were included with the note,” Schmidt explained. “It seemed likely that something untoward had happened to him.” He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, extinguishing it. Bits of tobacco drifted down to join the ash on the carpet. “Shall we see if my preparations were necessary?”

A few questions nagged at Hochstetter as he led the Colonel to the morgue. Nothing in the note Berlin had received had even hinted that anyone had died. Even with Adler’s papers included with the note, that didn’t necessarily mean that he’d been killed. So, why had Schmidt come prepared to identify Adler’s corpse—that was about all that dental records would be useful for! True, it was possible that Schmidt had been merely preparing for the worst, but something about the situation still didn’t feel right.

In any case, Hochstetter planned on paying very close attention to the way Colonel Schmidt conducted his investigation.

* * *

The Coroner lifted the sheet up to reveal the body’s ruined face. “Three 9mm bullets to the head,” he intoned as Schmidt leaned down to take a closer look. “Death immediate. From what I can tell, one bullet from the front and two from the back. Done at an angle. From somewhere above.”

“Sounds like an execution,” Schmidt commented, sounding strangely satisfied.

“Perhaps,” the Coroner returned mildly.

There was a small but unmistakeable smile on Schmidt’s face as he stepped back from the body. “I am certain that this is General Adler.” He turned to look at Hochstetter. “You may have the fingerprints to verify my claim, if you wish.”

Hochstetter shook his head, doing his best to hide his confusion. Why did Schmidt look almost _pleased_ that General Adler was dead? Schmidt had said he was familiar with the man. Familiarity bred contempt, it seemed. Indifference to seeing the body, Hochstetter would have understood. What he didn’t understand was Schmidt’s evident pleasure. “That shouldn’t be necessary. Your word is good enough for me.”

“Excellent.” Schmidt turned away from the body and towards the door. “I would like to speak with the witnesses now.”

“Of course,” Hochstetter said, wondering what the Colonel’s hurry was. Not that he’d expected the man to dawdle, but he had expected him to ask some more questions of the Coroner. What was going on? “Who would you like to speak with first?”

Schmidt stopped short. “The Englander,” he said at length. “He hates us all equally—he will have nothing to hide.” Then he turned back to face Hochstetter, his expression serious. “I will be asking all the questions, Major.”

Hochstetter felt the furrow in his brow deepen at the statement. It had almost sounded like a warning. “Yes, sir.” He couldn’t help but wonder, as he followed Schmidt out of the room whether there were questions Schmidt didn’t want asked.

* * *

“I understand you have quite the tale to tell,” Schmidt said after he took a seat across the table from the prisoner. “I’ll be very interested in hearing what you have to say.” He smiled encouragingly. “You may start whenever you are ready.”

The Englander looked as confused as Hochstetter felt. “You’re not going to ask me any questions?”

Schmidt considered it as he pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket. “If I need something clarified, I will ask.” He glanced at the prisoner before smiling. “Can I offer you a cigarette?”

Undoubtedly sensing a trap, the prisoner shook his head. “All set.”

Shrugging, Schmidt selected one for himself and lit it.

Silence stretched. Then the prisoner seemed to have had enough. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about after you left Stalag 13 last night?” Schmidt flicked some ash into the ash tray. “I have yet to hear a full accounting for General Adler’s death, so I would like to hear about the events leading up to it.”

Hochstetter had overseen enough interrogations to have a good understanding of the way they were supposed to go. Open up with some threats, question anything that sounds even a bit odd, and start shouting if results weren’t obtained fast enough. This interrogation was not going how he’d expected at all. Even the prisoner seemed confused by the way the interview was progressing. It truly seemed more like an interview than an interrogation.

The questions that Schmidt actually asked were few. He seemed content to blithely accept everything the Englander said without comment. Without concern.

Without care.

At least, that was how it seemed to Hochstetter who was growing more and more frustrated as the minutes passed. While it _seemed_ as though Schmidt wasn’t trying very hard to get the full story out of the prisoner, that didn’t necessarily mean Schmidt was doing it on purpose. It was entirely possible that the Colonel’s strength didn’t lie in interrogations. It was entirely possible, but Hochstetter had a hard time believing that incompetence was the reason for Schmidt’s lackluster performance.

His gut was wrong on occasion, but Hochstetter still trusted it. Right now, his gut was telling him that Schmidt just didn’t care about the information he was getting.

As for the story the Englander was offering to share, it was intriguing if frustrating for its incompleteness.

Per Schmidt’s request, the tale started after Klink, Adler, and himself left Stalag 13. Presumably, the answers to why the prisoner had been taken out of camp and where the final destination had been would be discovered during Klink’s interview. Hochstetter was looking forward to those answers for he was at a loss as to what Klink’s purpose could have been in going down that abandoned road in the first place. True, at the end of the path (it was barely that by the end) there was an old logging cabin, but that wasn’t anywhere to take a prisoner.

Once the staff car was ambushed, the prisoner’s story drew Hochstetter’s full attention. As Klink had claimed this morning, there had been five men dressed in SS uniforms. Their physical descriptions matched far too many of the young men in the SS to be of any use. Both the General and the Kommandant had been forced from the car and handcuffed, the General earning himself a punch in the jaw when he’d resisted. They’d all been forced onto their knees in front of Klink’s staff car.

Since the Englander’s command of German was limited to phrases like ‘Hurry’ and numbers, he was unable to relate the conversation General Adler had had with the SS Captain before the SS Captain had executed the man. He did feel confident enough to say that he felt the General had egged the Captain on somehow before the fatal shot was fired. The Captain had gone into a rage, kicking the bound man in the stomach several times, before putting three bullets into the General’s head.

After that, the Captain had turned on the Kommandant. Again, the prisoner’s German kept him from understanding what was said. Apparently, whatever Klink had said had appeased the Captain since he hadn’t shared the General’s fate. Instead, both Klink and the prisoner had been handcuffed to the inside of the staff car and left behind when the five SS drove off in their truck.

As Schmidt asked a couple unimportant questions, Hochstetter digested what he’d just heard. It was a strange story that only got stranger the more he thought about it. Mixed with the answers came more questions.

Assuming that the five men involved in the General’s murder had actually been SS, why would five of the Reich’s finest take it upon themselves to murder one of their own? Assuming that Adler’s execution had been the goal all along and not the result of a lost temper, what did murdering Adler accomplish? Assuming that the POW was telling the truth about any of it, what did any of it mean?

All of these were fairly large assumptions to make, and the questions they poised had no obvious answers.

The only thing Hochstetter knew for certain was that the General had been murdered to send a message. More specifically, he’d been murdered to send a message to Berlin. A message about ‘justice’. This suggested to him that either Adler had done something to his killers or Berlin had. He could see no other way that the man’s death could be considered a message of justice.

He’d never heard of General Josef Adler before this morning, but he had the distinct impression now that he was missing out on something vitally important. While it would be foolish to link the killer’s talk of justice with the pleased reaction Schmidt had had to Adler’s body, the fact that the man could garner such dislike from one of his contemporaries meant something. What exactly had the General _done_ to elicit such a reaction? What exactly had the General done to be murdered?

“Thank you for your story,” Schmidt said as he snubbed his cigarette out in the ash tray. “You have been very helpful.”

The Englander blinked at him stupidly. “Y-yeah. Sure. Don’t mention it.”

“Take him back to his cell,” Hochstetter ordered the guard, his words coming out more tersely than he’d meant. This whole situation was beginning to feel like an elaborate joke being played on him, and he didn’t like it at all. If the Colonel weren’t his superior, he’d be making demands for answers. As it was, he was forced to fume silently.

“Is something the matter, Major?” Schmidt asked once the guard and prisoner were gone.

“No sir,” Hochstetter said quickly. Seeing as Schmidt _was_ his superior, confronting him about his feeling that the man wasn’t putting his all into this investigation was unwise. “Would you like to see the other witness now?”

Schmidt stared at him, his expression offering nothing of his thoughts. “What do you think happened out there last night?”

The story was nebulous, and Hochstetter wasn’t certain he wanted to share his contention that either Adler or Berlin had done something to the killers which made Adler’s murder a message about justice. Then again, he didn’t want to leave this visiting Colonel with the impression that he was drooling idiot either. “Assuming that the Englander was telling the truth and assuming those men were actually in the SS, it seems to me that General Adler may have been killed due to internal politics in Berlin.”

Again, Schmidt’s expression offered nothing. “After I’m finished with Colonel Klink, I will be returning to Berlin with the body and the evidence you’ve collected here to be further processed there.”

This was irregular to say the least! “You’ll be leaving so soon?” They hadn’t even been investigating this matter for a full day! “We have no leads yet.”

Finally, Schmidt’s expression changed. Now he looked irritated. “I have duties in Berlin. I don’t have time to waste here.” He stood. “I’ve read your reports, Major.”

Confused by the non-sequitur, it took Hochstetter a moment to find his voice. “What do they—?”

“Underground activity is high here,” Schmidt interrupted, his face now placid. “Acquiring counterfeit SS uniforms would not pose too much of a challenge to men who manage to do the things you’ve written in your reports.”

While that much was true and while Hochstetter felt a bit flattered that the Colonel had actually read his reports, he felt like he was being thrown off the scent. “Why would the underground execute General Adler? Is he involved with something that the underground would be interested in?”

A smirk that disappeared quickly but not quickly enough. “That would be classified.”

A lie that he couldn’t contest just now. Hochstetter nodded. “I see.”

“I would like to see Colonel Klink now.” Apparently, the conversation was over.

“Yes, sir. Right this way.”

As he started to lead Schmidt down to where Klink was being held, Hochstetter decided that this sham investigation did not sit right with him. The Gestapo looked after their own. And if this General _had_ deserved death, this was _not_ the way executions of fellow members were done. They were the elite! They weren’t to be disposed of like vermin in the middle of the woods no matter _what_ their crimes. At the very _least_ this General ought to have been given the option of suicide—obviously, being shot three times in the head while handcuffed, that hadn’t been the case. Maybe it had been offered?

Hochstetter wondered what light Colonel Klink would have to shine on the situation. Of course, Schmidt would be the one asking the questions, and he obviously had no interest in discovering the truth of this situation. However, once the Berlin Colonel was gone… there was no reason why Hochstetter couldn’t continue the investigation on his own and ask his own questions.

“Major Hochstetter!”

Stopping in his tracks, he turned to look at Lieutenant Becker. The Lieutenant’s face was florid and his breathing was heavy, as though he’d been running. “What is it?”

“General Burkhalter,” Becker panted, bending over to rest his hands on his thighs, “is on the telephone. He-he’s demanding to speak with you about the, the Luftwaffe personnel you’re holding here.”

Several thoughts ran through Hochstetter’s head at this pronouncement but the two most prominent were: _How could I have forgotten to inform him that I’m holding one of his subordinates?_ and _How did he_ find out _about it?_ The first was easy to answer—he’d been so caught up in the investigation that it simply hadn’t occurred to him to make that call. The second required some kind of answer. “How did he find out?”

“I-I don’t know, sir.” The faint fear on the young man’s face told Hochstetter that the Lieutenant knew exactly how Burkhalter had found out.

Becker was just lucky that Hochstetter had no time to deal with him now. “If you will excuse me, Colonel,” he said quickly to Schmidt.

Schmidt pulled his cigarette case from his pocket. “Take your time.”


	68. Wake-Up Call Redux

Schultz awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. He blinked awake and stared blearily at the clock face in the dim light of the morning sun shining through the window. 7:10. For a moment, he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt uneasy. That was when he usually woke up for 7:30 Roll Call. Then it came back to him.

He shot out of his cot with a curse. He’d _told_ Corporal Braun to wake him up the moment the Kommandant returned to camp! Usually, his guards were good about following orders but, for whatever reason, this particular order hadn’t been obeyed. He got dressed, wavering uncomfortably between annoyance and concern. Had Braun simply forgotten, or was there another reason why he hadn’t done as he’d been ordered.

Once he was dressed, he made his way out into the compound. It was too early for Roll Call, but he had another destination in mind anyway. He stopped at the front gates and called out to the young guard there. “Corporal Kruger!”

Kruger looked towards him and came to attention. “Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

Schultz took a moment to catch his breath. “When did the Kommandant return last night?”

“The Kommandant?” The Corporal looked confused before his expression brightened. “That’s right: Corporal Braun told me to tell you the minute he came back.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Schultz demanded, fearing that he already knew the answer.

“He didn’t come back, Sergeant,” Kruger confirmed. He frowned. “Was he supposed to?”

Now, that was the question, wasn’t it? Hogan, he had to go see Hogan—maybe _he_ knew where the Kommandant was. “Thank you, Corporal,” he said quickly, deciding that the young man’s question was better left unanswered.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he made a beeline to Barracks 2. Unsurprisingly, the men in the main room of the barracks were sleeping. At least Sergeant Kinchole was there, as Hogan had promised. That was something. Schultz went to the door of Hogan’s bunk. He didn’t knock, not wanting to wake up the other prisoners. He only opened the door and walked inside.

The American Colonel was also sleeping. At least, he’d been sleeping before Schultz had closed the door. The sound of it must have woken him up for Hogan was blinking at him from under his blanket. “Schultz?”

Schultz wasted no time. “The Kommandant didn’t come back last night—do you know where he is?”

Hogan frowned at him and rubbed his eyes. “How should I know where he is?” He yawned. “Maybe he broke down somewhere. Did you go look for him?”

Oh. That was an excellent idea, except for one thing. “I don’t know where he was going.”

A tired glare. “What do you mean you don’t know where he was going? He _told_ you before he left!”

There were several confusing things about this statement, not the least of which being the fact that Hogan hadn’t been anywhere near them when Colonel Klink had left camp. Even if the Big Shot _had_ told him anything, _Hogan_ wouldn’t know it! “No, he didn’t.”

Sighing, Hogan pushed himself up to a sit. “Of course he did,” he said with clear annoyance. “I heard him clear as a bell. He said that he was going to the old farmhouse at the end of Grafweg just outside of Hammelburg.”

Schultz had been about to protest that no, the Kommandant had said no such thing, when he suddenly realized what Hogan was doing. Telling him information and giving him a reason to have said information. Clever, clever. “Of course.” He hesitated. While he thought that the name of the road sounded familiar, he didn’t know every place in and outside that town. “Colonel Klink didn’t happen to say where that is, did he?”

Hogan stared at him for a long moment before sighing again. He pointed to his jacket, hanging on the chair. “Give me my jacket.” After Schultz had done so, Hogan poked through his pockets before smiling. He held a small, folded piece of paper aloft. “Here, Schultz,” he said, holding the paper out for the German to take. “You’re lucky that the Kommandant took the time to give you such detailed directions.”

Schultz took the paper from the American and unfolded it. It was in English and it definitely wasn’t in the Big Shot’s handwriting. Still, as Hogan had said, the directions were detailed. He should be able to follow the Kommandant’s path fairly easily. He looked up from the paper and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Colonel Hogan. Thank you.”

The Senior POW waved the thanks away, lying back down. “You’ll want to head right out, Schultz. He’s been wherever he’s been all night.”

It was all Schultz could do not to salute. “Right away!”

He hurried out of the barracks, ignoring the questioning looks that came from the prisoners who’d woken up despite his stealth, and headed out into the compound. His first thought was to just take a car from the motor pool and drive off immediately, but he realized that he couldn’t leave without letting _someone_ know he was leaving. He changed direction and strode over to the Office Building.

Entering the office building, he saw Fraulein Hilda already sitting at her desk. She looked up, her eyes took him in, and then she asked “What’s the matter?”

“Colonel Klink never came back last night,” he said bluntly. “I’m planning to go after him.”

She frowned. “He left last night? Alone?”

This was wasting time. Schultz held out his hands entreatingly. “Please, Fraulein, I’ll explain everything when I get back.”

While her unhappiness with this was clear, she didn’t protest. “All right, Sergeant. Will you have any trouble with the motor pool?”

Schultz shook his head. “That should be fine. These men answer to me.” He turned on his heel and headed out the door—

—almost running into Corporal Langenscheidt, who was climbing up the stairs. Luckily, the Corporal had been quick enough on his feet to avoid the coming collision. “Sergeant? Are you all right?”

“Come with me,” Schultz said.

The Corporal was still looking at him with concern but followed Schultz as he was bid.

Once they had arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Schultz turned to look at him. It was a risk to bring anyone with him since he didn’t know what he was going to find when he caught up with the Kommandant. However, it was also a risk _not_ to bring anyone for the same reason. Langenscheidt could be trusted, Schultz thought, if whatever had kept the Kommandant was something related to his Eagle problem. And, if what had kept the Kommandant was some other sort of problem, an extra set of hands could come in useful. “You are coming with me, Corporal.”

Surprise. “I am? Where?”

Schultz took Langenscheidt by the arm and started towards the motor pool. “The Kommandant did not return last night, so you and I are going to go look for him.” He glanced at the Corporal and saw the confusion on his face. “I don’t want to call the police in case it turns out that the Big Shot had to stay somewhere because he’d had too many drinks!”

Langenscheidt nodded slowly. “I understand, Sergeant. Do you know where he was supposed to be?”

Nodding, Schultz fingered the piece of paper in his pocket. “He told me before he left. It shouldn’t take too long to find him.”

At least, that was what Schultz hoped.

* * *

Langenscheidt didn’t ask any more questions until they were well under way, but the younger man’s growing confusion and unease had been obvious since he’d gotten behind the steering wheel of the staff car. However, once they turned on to the small road at the end of the directions, it seemed that the Corporal could contain himself no longer. “What business could the Kommandant have _here_?” Then he glanced at Schultz, almost accusingly. “You knew the Colonel wasn’t off drinking.”

Schultz didn’t know how to answer the implied accusation, so he left it alone. “The Kommandant and General Adler came out here to interrogate one of our prisoners.”

“Interrogate one of—!” Langenscheidt broke off, perhaps realizing he’d sounded shrill. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he went on stiffly. “Surely, the cooler would have sufficed for _that_.” He glanced at Schultz again. “Who went with them?” When the answer was not immediately forthcoming, he glanced once more, worriedly. “Someone _did_ go with them, right?”

As it would become immediately apparent the moment they came across the Kommandant that no one besides the prisoner and Adler were with him, Schultz saw no point in lying. “No.”

The car came to a slow, steady stop. Langenscheidt’s hands remained on the steering wheel, and his eyes remained fixed on the road. “Sergeant Schultz,” he stated calmly, “I need to know what is going on before I drive another inch.” He turned his head to meet Schultz’s eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know. I _do_ notice things occasionally!”

Schultz supposed he should have expected this despite his hope that he’d be able to delay any explanations until there was no longer a need for any. Unfortunately, it seemed he could no longer put explaining things off. Also unfortunately, he had no way of knowing what Langenscheidt’s reaction would be. There was nothing he could do but trust in the younger man’s loyalty.

“You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. What I tell you, you need to keep it secret.” Schultz gave the Corporal what he hoped was a hard, serious look. “Are you willing to do that?”

Langenscheidt’s hands slid off the steering wheel. His face was pale; his expression, resolute. “I am.”

It was a risk, and Schultz was only too aware of the fact that the risk wasn’t to himself: he did not like the feel of another person’s life resting in his hands. It was so much easier when he really knew nothing. A circumstance which happened far too seldom for his comfort. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed to go into great detail. Perhaps the Corporal would settle for uncluttered fact.

“I don’t know everything about it,” Schultz admitted first, “but General Adler has been blackmailing the Kommandant.”

“Blackmailing the Kommandant?” Langenscheidt echoed. “What for?”

“I don’t know,” Schultz said because he didn’t. He’d never asked Klink what Adler had had on him that had made the Big Shot willing to do what he’d been doing with the General. He hadn’t wanted to know. He still didn’t want to know.

The Corporal was frowning now, suspicious. “What does this blackmail have to do with General Adler taking a prisoner from our camp?”

Schultz couldn’t be certain about this part either, since he also hadn’t asked about this, but he had a guess. A guess that turned his stomach. “You know that I have recently set up extra patrols around the latrines and showers, yes?”

“Yes,” Langenscheidt said in the slow, uncertain manner of a man fearing a swindle.

“I didn’t actually see anything for myself, but,” Schultz took a breath to give himself a moment to consider his words, “a prisoner told me that General Adler had tried to kiss him.”

Langenscheidt blinked. Then he looked disgusted. Then he looked horrified. “You think the General wanted to take a prisoner out here to, to rape him?”

They weren’t the words that Schultz would have chosen, but they certainly sufficed. “I believe so.”

“And the Kommandant would allow that to happen?” Langenscheidt’s tone was sickened.

That was yet another thing Schultz had not asked any details about. Of course, considering the fact that Colonel Hogan and the Big Shot were working together to do _something_ to make General Adler ‘fly away’, he doubted that having any of the prisoners hurt had been Klink’s intention when he’d driven Adler and Newkirk down this road. The problem was how to explain this to Langenscheidt without explaining certain people into trouble.

Then again, the Corporal had said he noticed things. Anyone who noticed _anything_ was bound to notice that the prisoners at Stalag 13 were not the usual prisoners. Two lives in his hands, possibly more. “No, I don’t think so,” Schultz said at last. “I don’t know any details, but I do know Colonel Hogan was involved with the Kommandant making the choice to come out here with Adler. I’m certain that Colonel Hogan would not let anything happen to one of his men if he could help it.”

“That’s good to know.” Langenscheidt smiled weakly. “I would not like to think that Colonel Klink would be that sort of man.” He turned his attention back towards the front and got the car moving again. “What do you think we will find once we find them?”

Schultz shook his head. “I wish I knew, Corporal.”

They hadn’t driven for more than fifteen minutes before the empty road became much less empty. Even though Langenscheidt stopped well short of the scene, what Schultz could see was enough to send his stomach into his boots. Gestapo soldiers and officers were trudging through the snow like ants on top of a pile of sugar. A staff car, the one that Colonel Klink had driven out of Stalag 13 the night before, was in the middle of it all. The doors were opened as were the trunk and hood. There was no sign of Colonel Klink or Corporal Newkirk.

General Adler was missing as well, of course.

Something must have happened. Something serious. There would not be so many Gestapo around otherwise.

Unfortunately, their arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed: a Gestapo sergeant ran towards their car. His surprise was unhidden as he knocked on the window. After Langenscheidt had obligingly rolled the window down, he asked them to identify themselves.

As the one who held the highest rank in the car, Schultz figured he ought to do the talking. “I am Sergeant Schultz and this is Corporal Langenscheidt from Stalag 13.”

The Sergeant cocked his head to the side. “What business brings you all the way out here?”

“Our Kommandant didn’t return to camp last night,” Schultz explained. “He’d told me where he was going before he left, so I decided to check on things myself before I declared him missing.” He hesitated, uncertain whether he wanted the question answered and uncertain that the Gestapo Sergeant would answer it anyway. “Is he all right?”

“When I last saw him, he was,” the Sergeant said after a moment. “Who was with him when he left?”

That was a relief! “He left camp with one of our prisoners and a Gestapo General from Berlin, General Adler.”

A twinge of nausea colored the other man’s face for a second before his expression returned to something neutral. “Wait here. I need to speak with Lieutenant Fischer.”

As soon as the Sergeant was gone, Langenscheidt turned to Schultz. “What do you think happened here?”

Schultz had to shrug. “I’m sure we’ll find out sooner or later.” At least the Big Shot was all right. He wished he’d asked after the Englander, too. There was no way of knowing whether or not he was all right as well. As for General Adler... Schultz was not generally a hateful person, but he wouldn’t mind learning that General Adler wasn’t all right.

They didn’t have long to wait before a lieutenant walked up to the car with a corporal in tow. “Major Hochstetter will want to question you,” he said by way of greeting. “I will be sending Corporal Holtz with you to make certain the Major sees you once you arrive at the Gestapo headquarters.”

The Corporal was young, almost too young, but arrogance had twisted his baby face into something unpleasant. “Shall we leave now, Lieutenant?”

“Of course.”

* * *

The trip to Major Hochstetter’s headquarters was made in silence, and Schultz was glad of it. Small talk with any member of the Gestapo was unpleasant at the best of times. Times being what they were this morning, the last thing Schultz was interested in was trading careful talk about the weather. Langenscheidt, who had been relegated to the backseat, looked a bit nervous whenever Schultz glanced into the rearview mirror to check on him.

Schultz could not blame him for that. If he’d known that this was going to happen, he’d never have brought the young man along. Being questioned by the Gestapo was always unnerving—he doubted the process was any more comfortable when performed in the Gestapo’s actual headquarters. He had to admit, as he parked the car, that he was more than a bit nervous himself.

He and Langenscheidt followed Corporal Holtz inside. Their arrival was noted and dismissed by the men in the front room, and Holtz paid them no mind. His objective was a Lieutenant with thinning hair standing near the secretary’s desk. “Lieutenant Becker,” he greeted as he saluted, “I have just come from—”

Becker waved him off. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He offered a leer to the secretary and seemed unconcerned by the frown it received.

Holtz was undeterred. “Lieutenant Fischer told me to bring this men here for Major Hochstetter to see.”

Becker glanced at Schultz and Langenscheidt in a deeply uninterested fashion. “Major Hochstetter is busy with the Berlin brass.” He returned his attention to his quarry.

“But they could have important information about the Major’s investigation,” Holtz protested.

“Put them in a cell then,” Becker said, not bothering to look at Holtz. “They can wait.”

The Corporal stood up a little straighter. “I have my orders, Lieutenant Becker. Lieutenant Fischer told me to make sure--”

Now, Holtz had Becker’s full attention. “ _I_ just gave you an order,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“Your orders are not more important than Lieutenant Fischer’s,” Holtz stated stubbornly. “He told me to make certain that Major Hochstetter knows they are here.”

“Listen, you little piss-ant--”

Langenscheidt looked to Schultz. “What should we do, Sergeant?” he whispered as the two in front of them argued about who had the ultimate authority between a lieutenant and a lieutenant.

Schultz was not one for plans. He hadn’t even considered the proposition of _doing_ anything. But now that the idea of having an idea had been voiced, he realized that something had to be done—no one knew he and Langenscheidt were even here. Who knew how long they’d be in a cell before they were released?

Someone had to be told, and he doubted either of the Gestapo men standing in front of him would let him make a telephone call. A telephone call. His eyes lit on the telephone on the secretary’s desk, and the idea came to him. He doubted he’d actually be able to pull it off, but, at the moment, he seemed to have little to lose.

He might as well try. After all, half of the things Colonel Hogan got away with he got away with because no one knew what to make of his brashness. Why couldn’t the same work for Schultz? Several reasons immediately came to mind, but he dismissed them: there was no time for hesitation! He reached out for the receiver of the secretary’s telephone as the Corporal and the Lieutenant continued their unproductive back and forth.

The only one to take note of what he was doing was the secretary: she watched him with a sort of disinterested amusement. While she brought her finger up to hover over the cradle, she did not cut the connection immediately. Perhaps she was waiting to see who he wanted to talk to.

Speaking quietly and quickly, Schultz had the operator connect him to General Burkhalter’s headquarters. He glanced at the secretary. Her mouth was curved in an evil sort of smile, but her finger remained still. For whatever reason, she was allowing him to make this call.

Schultz was grateful. If anyone could get this mess sorted out now, it would be General Burkhalter. While the General had no love for either Schultz or Klink, Burkhalter was their superior and he disliked the Gestapo more. He would come for them.

He would.

Once the General was on the phone, Schultz outlined the situation as quickly as he could. Abruptly, the line went dead. His eyes flashed to the secretary. Her finger had cut the connection but her attention was focused on Lieutenant Becker. An innocent smile that was trying too hard to be truly so quirked up her lips.

Becker was furious. “You’re going to regret that, Sergeant,” he hissed, ripping the receiver out of Schultz’s hand. “You’re going to—”

The telephone rang.

The secretary’s smile became one of sadistic glee. She lifted her finger.

Indecision gripped the Lieutenant for a moment before he lifted the receiver up to his ear. “Gestapo—” Immediately a voice loud enough for Schultz to hear interrupted. “Major Hochstetter is—” Becker attempted only to be cut off again. “But, General, I—” He covered the mouth piece and glared at Corporal Holtz. “Put them in a cell already, damn it!”

This time, the Corporal offered no argument. “This way,” he directed, clearly struggling not to grin at the other man’s misfortune.

Considering the fact that he was being led to Gestapo jail cell, Schultz felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d done his part: nothing that happened now was his responsibility. His hands were well and truly empty.

He’d missed that feeling.


	69. Minding the Fort

Directly after Roll Call, Kinch had gone to Barracks 7 with the intention of finding out whether or not the tenseness Nowak had displayed was normal for the man. He suspected there was more to the young man’s story than what he’d shared but, if it turned out that Nowak was behaving normally, Kinch wasn’t going to force the issue. Fortunately, he’d been able to speak privately with the man in charge of the barracks fairly easily. Unfortunately, the story he had to tell was less than encouraging.

According to Sergeant Martin, when Nowak had arrived at Stalag 13, he’d proven to be a fairly serious man who was not without a sense of humor. He’d been willing to socialize, and he’d seemed to be settling into prison life well enough. That had all changed about a week ago. One day, Nowak became reluctant to leave the barracks and had started hiding whenever he saw a guard coming. On top of that, he barely spoke to anyone anymore. Martin had been unable to get any sort of answer out of the Corporal, but he hoped that Kinch would have more luck.

Martin arranged to have Kinch speak with Nowak alone, and it spoke volumes about how much Nowak’s behavior concerned them that the men of Barracks 7 made no argument about finding something else to do—away from the barracks—for a half hour. Kinch entered the barracks a second time that morning to find it empty except for Corporal Nowak sitting on his bunk. His eyes were open, but he didn’t appear to be paying attention to anything happening around him.

Nowak started at Kinch’s hail and hurriedly got to his feet. “Sergeant,” he greeted stiffly as he stood at attention. “I hear that you want to see me?”

“I did.” Kinch considered the tense man in front of him. Best to ease into it. “I wanted to discuss how you’re fitting in here at Stalag 13.”

A frown, as though Nowak suspected he’d been insulted but was not certain enough of it to return the favor. “I don’t fit in?”

Kinch smiled reassuringly. “That’s not what I mean. Prison life isn’t easy to get the hang of. It’s a lot of time sitting around and doing nothing except trying not to go sir crazy.”

“Aha,” Nowak said, his skepticism plan. His frown deepened. “I have done something wrong?”

This wasn’t going to be easy. Kinch had known it from the start, but the confirmation was depressing. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he corrected the young man, “but I’m concerned about your morale.” When this received a blank look, he decided to try being blunt. “You seem very tense, and Sergeant Martin tells me that you weren’t always this way.” He shook his head. “You aren’t going to last long here if you’re this wound up.”

Nowak looked away as though pained.

“If you’re having some sort of problem,” Kinch said gently, “I want to know what it is so I can help you out.”

For a long moment, Nowak said nothing. “What happened with that General … is that … is that _normal_ for here?” Frightened eyes met Kinch’s. “Will guards here start offering me and make _demands_ from me? Is that what prisoners are expected to do here?” He looked and sounded desperate. “If that is what I must do to survive here, I won’t do it! I will run at the gate _right now_!”

No wonder the boy was tense if _that_ was what he was worried about! “I can assure you, Corporal,” Kinch said, trying to project calm even as he tried to understand where Nowak had gotten such an awful idea from, “that what General Adler did to you is _not_ normal operating procedure at Stalag 13.” He felt his brow betray his bewilderment. “Why would you ever think such a thing?”

The Corporal bit his lip. “He, he did this so openly.” He shook his head. “When a guard came by, he did not act like he was worried about being seen.” The words were almost timid but gradually gained strength as remembered fear made way for present anger. “When I told you, you were not surprised—you expected it,” he went on, almost accusingly. “You did not care what he did, except for wanting to know if he hurt me. You didn’t tell me to lodge complaint or to tell anyone else about what that General did. You didn’t tell me anything that I should do.” He shrugged stiffly. “I started to think that reason you didn’t offer me any advice was because this is what happens here.”

Kinch felt like a fool. He simply had not considered what his conversation with Nowak would have looked like from the Corporal’s point of view. He could see now that he should have told Nowak that Colonel Hogan would look into the matter on his behalf or _something_ to set the younger man’s mind at ease. Instead, he’d only told Nowak that Hogan would appreciate hearing about the matter. No wonder the Corporal had been left so confused!

“I’m sorry,” Kinch said. If nothing else, he owed Nowak an apology for allowing him to make the assumption he’d made. The problem was how to explain himself now without saying more than the Corporal needed to hear. “I wasn’t surprised,” he admitted as he prepared to embellish the story. “Colonel Hogan was informed by the Kommandant that something similar to what happened to you had happened to another prisoner here. The Kommandant had wanted to know if Adler had done the same to anyone else, so the Colonel had me look into it.” He shook his head ruefully. “I didn’t even think to explain any of that to you: I _was_ mostly concerned with whether or not the General had hurt you.”

Throughout this speech, Nowak had watched him with an almost stoney expression. Once it was over with, his frown softened into something like acceptance. “And what happens now, Sergeant?”

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Kinch said with kind firmness, “and I need you to answer me honestly. Okay?”

Nowak nodded, his uncertainty making him seem impossibly young.

“Did General Adler do anything more than grab your arm?” Kinch prayed that the answer would be no but knew that it wouldn’t be.

Silence. Then Nowak lowered his head, closing his eyes. “He took my arm and put my face against the wall. He … he felt me,” he gestured vaguely over his lower half, “over my clothes. That’s when a guard came. He let me go then and, and told me that we would finish later.”

Kinch took in the younger man: the almost huddled posture he’d adopted, the paleness of his cheeks, his tightly clenched fists. Even though Adler hadn’t had the opportunity to abuse this man as thoroughly as he had the Kommandant, Adler had done enough to shake him. “That must have been frightening.”

The Corporal nodded mutely. After a second, he looked up. “What did he do to that other man?”

Since Nowak had no way of knowing who the other prisoner was, Kinch saw no reason not to be honest. “General Adler caught him behind the latrines and tried to kiss him.”

“Oh.” Nowak looked thoughtful. “I suppose I was lucky then.”

Thinking about the other man Adler had abused, Kinch decided Nowak had no idea how lucky he actually was. “Will you be all right?” he expanded the question when it received a blank look. “Now that you know what General Adler did isn’t the norm, are you going to be able to settle in here?”

“I _think_ so,” Nowak answered slowly, his confused frown suggesting he hadn’t completely understood what he’d been asked. 

Blunt. He had to be blunt. “If what happened with General Adler still gives you trouble, please let me know.” Kinch smiled encouragingly. “I’ll make sure you get whatever help you need to get along.”

Understanding. “I think I will be all right,” Nowak insisted with more confidence than he’d displayed before. He smiled shyly. “If I am wrong, I promise I will tell you.” He bowed his head. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You are finished with me?” His cheeks colored. “Corporal Finn offered to save me a place at the Tournament.”

“Of course. Go ahead.” Kinch watched him leave the barracks, already seeing a lightness in the young man’s step that had been utterly absent before. Maybe Nowak really would be okay. He sat down on the Corporal’s bunk, wanting to wait a couple minutes before following the Corporal out of the barracks.

It seemed like a long time since Kinch had been able to give Colonel Hogan some good news. With any luck, the good news would cushion of the advice he had to give his commander regarding that promise Klink had made him. He’d actually spent some time, during the trip to Grafweg, considering the idea and had come to the conclusion that it was a horrible idea. Unfortunately, with everything else that had happened that evening, he hadn’t been able to broach the subject. Considering the fact that Colonel Klink and Corporal Newkirk could return to camp any time now, the sooner he spoke to Hogan about his concerns the better!

Still, even with this future conversation hanging over his head, Kinch couldn’t help but smile as he left Barracks 7 for Barracks 2. Despite the new layer of snow on the ground, it was shaping to be a beautiful day. The air was balmy for a German January, and the midday sun shined brightly down from a clear, blue sky. When he walked in from the cold, he had still more reason to smile: he was greeted by warmth and the smell of onion and garlic being seared.

He offered his smile to the Frenchman standing at the stove. “Smells good, Louis. What’s the occasion?” he asked, even though he already had a fair idea.

“Peter’s homecoming, of course,” LeBeau said. Then he scowled at the onions. “Not that he appreciates good food.”

It was an old complaint. Kinch secretly thought that Newkirk liked French food just fine—at least, he always ate as much of it as the rest of them—but he still made disparaging comments just to get a rise out of his French ally. He put on his most innocent expression. “You could always fry up some sausages and potatoes.”

LeBeau’s look of horror was expected and amusing. “ _Absolute non_.” The horror turned to determination. “I will retrain that ruined English palate if it takes me the rest of my life!”

Kinch covered his mouth, but could not stop the sound from coming out. If LeBeau’s glare was any indication, the coughing fit Kinch tried to turn his laughter into was not terribly convincing. “What are you making for him?”

“ _Soupe à l’oignon_ ,” LeBeau sniffed with wounded pride. He sniffed again and returned his attention to his onions. “Please hand me the flour. It’s in the cup near the pitcher.”

Kinch did so before taking a seat in front of the rest of LeBeau’s onion soup ingredients. Taking a quick glance around the barracks, he saw that they weren’t quite alone. Wilson was on his bunk, reading. Johnson and Foster were near the back of the barracks playing an ill-advised dice game. The other men were probably at the Tournament—it was the last day, after all. That just left Carter and Hogan missing. “Where’s Andrew?”

“In his lab,” LeBeau said distractedly as he stirred in the flour. “He said he would try to take apart some of the bombs he made for the Seven _Singes_.” An unconcerned shrug. “The pitcher, please.”

Once the pitcher of broth was in LeBeau’s hands, Kinch asked about the other missing man. “Has Colonel Hogan come out of his office?”

LeBeau didn’t answer until the pitcher was empty. “ _Non_.” He handed the pitcher back to Kinch. “He would not even come out for breakfast. I had to deliver it.” Shaking his head, he stirred his soup. “I hope Peter comes back soon.”

“Wouldn’t want his soup to get cold,” Kinch said lightly, feeling concerned himself that the Englishman hadn’t been returned to them yet. “I’m going to go check on Colonel Hogan.”

A dismissive hand wave. “ _D’accord_.”

Kinch left the diminutive chef to his creation and headed towards Hogan’s office. The conversation he’d soon be having with the Colonel wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be lively. Perhaps lively enough to distract both of them from worrying about Peter’s increasingly late return. 

* * *

Hogan looked out his window into the compound, wondering for what seemed like the millionth time if something had gone wrong. It was fast approaching noon, and no one had come through the gates. Of course, if something _had_ gone wrong, there was nothing he could do about it from here. All he could do was wait and hope that all of the pieces he’d arranged came together as he’d planned. 

Besides, what could go wrong?

He closed his eyes and pretended he hadn’t thought that. Something could always go wrong. To be technical, something major had gone wrong already. With Adler dead, he really shouldn’t be surprised it was taking so long for Klink and Newkirk to return to camp. There would be evidence to be processed; fingerprints taken; an autopsy performed; pictures taken and developed; and then interrogations of Newkirk and Klink. Even Schultz might be interrogated depending on whether or not Major Hochstetter had arrived at the scene first. 

Truly, Hogan was not overly concerned about Newkirk: with Adler dead, the only thing Newkirk had been in danger of was frostbite. Now that he was in Gestapo custody, he wasn’t even in danger of _that_. It also wasn’t as though the inevitable interrogation would be too brutal: Hochstetter wouldn’t be delusional enough to try to pin Adler’s death on him. Not with all the evidence _against_ a scenario where Newkirk had been responsible for the man’s death.

That same evidence would also prove that Klink hadn’t shot Adler either. Unfortunately, being at the scene of the crime as he was and being a German officer, there would be more questions for Klink than there would be for Newkirk. Hogan just had to depend on Klink’s ability to keep the whole truth of the matter to himself. 

He wished that idea didn’t make him feel so nervous.

A knock on the door drew Hogan’s attention, and he turned in time to see Kinch enter his office. “Kinch,” he greeted, grateful for the distraction, “what brings you here? Finished with Nowak already?”

“Yes, sir. There was more to the story than what he’d told me, but I’d expected that.” 

Hogan sat down in the chair and gestured that Kinch should take a seat as well. “What happened to him then?” he asked once Kinch had sat down on the bunk. 

“Adler pushed him against a wall and felt him up before the guard came by. Then Adler told him that they’d finish later.” Kinch shook his head. “That would have been bad enough, but thanks to the way I’d handled things when I spoke to him the first time, Nowak was left with the impression that this sort of thing happens all the time here.”

That was quite the thing to think! “What did you say to him to give him that idea?”

“It’s more what I _didn’t_ say to him.” Kinch’s smile was rueful. “After he told me what he told me, I didn’t tell him to lodge a complaint, and I didn’t think to tell him that you’d look into it.” He shrugged. “He figured that, since I didn’t tell him to report it, that things like that were expected.”

Hogan could understand Kinch making that mistake. As close as he and Kinch were to this mess, it was easy to overlook how it appeared from the outside. Of course Kinch hadn’t told Nowak to lodge a complaint: Klink already knew what sort of monster Adler was and was in no condition to do anything about him anyway. In fact, considering how badly Klink had felt about Sergeant Jackson, it was probably a _good_ thing that Nowak hadn’t tried telling him about the incident; it’d been hard enough to get Klink to go along with his plan as was! 

“But you set him straight, right, Kinch?”

A nod. “Of course, sir. I think he’ll be all right—I made him promise that he’d come to me if it turned out he wasn’t.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” At least Adler hadn’t managed to do any lasting damage to the prisoners. As far as they knew, anyway. While he hoped that Jackson and Nowak had been the only ones Adler had been able to corner, he really had no way of knowing that for certain. “I want you to keep your ears open, just in case others have had run ins with Adler, too.” After receiving Kinch’s assurance that he would do so, Hogan turned away from the Sergeant to return his gaze out the window.

There was probably about a foot or so of snow out on the ground, as far as he could judge. Due to the power vacuum caused by the absence of both the Sergeant of the guard as well as the camp Kommandant, no one had yet been tasked with clearing the roads within Stalag 13. Between the passage of many feet and whatever melting that took place thanks to an unfiltered sun, it would no doubt become sheer ice by tomorrow. Perhaps he ought to take the reins and get some men together to clear the snow before that happened. After all, icy roads wouldn’t just be inconvenient for the Germans.

These were not new thoughts, and they failed to distract him from noting that a car had yet to drive through the gates. 

“No news yet?”

Shaking his head, Hogan favored Kinch with a weary smile. “General Burkhalter called around 0900 _looking_ for Klink, but there’s been no word from anyone _about_ Klink or Newkirk.” Unfortunately, Burkhalter hadn’t informed Hilda what business he had with the Kommandant so early in the morning. Hogan just hoped that whatever business Burkhalter had that it didn’t involve anything which would require immediate attention—some down time after all this craziness would be nice. Perhaps not realistic, but nice.

“No news is good news,” Kinch said with false brightness. 

Hogan had never been particularly fond of that phrase. “I prefer knowing to not knowing, Kinch.”

For some reason, his retort made Kinch grimace. “That doesn’t surprise me, sir.” His eyes narrowed as he considered something, then he shook his head in defeat. “I’ve been thinking about that promise Klink made you.”

“Oh?” Hogan could tell already that this conversation wouldn’t make him happy. “What about it?”

Kinch hesitated. “I think you should let him out of it.” Apparently noting Hogan’s surprise, he continued quickly, “At least, I think you should wait a while before you ask him anything personal—give him some time to come to you.”

This sounded familiar. “You were wrong about waiting for him to come to me before,” Hogan said carefully, trying not to sound dismissive but allowing his skepticism to be heard. “What makes you think you’re not wrong about it now?”

“He had no reason to trust you then,” Kinch explained simply. “It was a matter of life and death, and we didn’t make Klink talk about anything but his suicide plans.” He frowned with concern. “If you use this promise to _force_ Klink to talk to you, how are you any different from General Adler?”

How was he different from General Adler? Was Kinch _really_ asking him that? A question that stupid deserved a stupid answer. “I’m not interested in kissing Klink, for a start,” Hogan said flippantly.

It was clear that Kinch did not find this response the least bit humorous. “I didn’t mean _that_ ,” he returned with exaggerated patience. “I certainly don’t think you’re going to be kissing the Kommandant any time soon.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Hogan bit out, allowing his annoyance to show. “Because, I’m telling you, Kinch, I’m getting _really_ tired of being told I’ve got anything in common with that man.”

“I can understand that.” Kinch took a moment before he said anything more, choosing his words with obvious care. “From the start of this whole thing, Adler treated Klink like he was a possession of his. You heard him yourself: he made Klink _say_ that Adler owned him.” He half shook his head. “I listened in more than you did, and I heard things you didn’t hear. Over and over again, Adler forced Klink to do things, to _say_ things.”

Hogan could see where Kinch was going with this. The implication made him feel queasy. “And you think me taking up Klink’s offer will be like _me_ taking Adler’s place as the one forcing Klink to do things?”

A nod. “I don’t think that would be good for either of you—least of all, him.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Hogan admitted, his earlier annoyance now completely replaced by weariness. It was difficult to argue with that logic, and Hogan had no desire to force Klink into doing anything. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of options. “If he doesn’t get back to something like normal soon, people are bound to notice. People who aren’t going to be terribly sympathetic.”

Now it was Kinch’s turn to look tired. “I know that. Still, I think you should give him at least a little time to come to you of his own free will.”

Hogan considered the proposition. There was only one thing he needed to know that couldn’t wait. For security’s sake, he needed to know if whatever Klink was so certain Hogan wouldn’t forgive him for was a danger to the operation. As for the rest of it... the rest of it _could_ wait a while. But not a long one. “All right. I’ll tell him when he gets back that the deal’s off.” He raised his finger in the air. “I can give him two weeks; after that, I’m going to have to insist if he’s not better.” He smiled wanly. “I can’t let this go on forever.”

Kinch seemed satisfied by the compromise. “I wouldn’t tell him that there’s a time limit, sir.”

Hogan mock saluted. “Roger, Wilco.” Of course, before he could do anything, Klink and Newkirk would have to return to camp. Thinking of Newkirk now, Hogan realized he hadn’t shared the Englishman’s new appreciation for Kinch’s point of view with Kinch. “Newkirk told me to tell you he understands where you’re coming from now.”

Pleased surprise. “Really?” Kinch tilted his head. “When did he tell you that?”

“When I went out to check on him and Klink last night.” 

Abruptly, Kinch’s pleased expression was overtaken by one of concern. “You said that Adler got fresh with him last night, didn’t you?” At Hogan’s nod, he actually looked sickened. “I’d have rather he’d kept disagreeing with me than have him change his mind because Adler did something to him!”

Hogan had not considered Newkirk’s 180 in attitude from that angle and wished that he had earlier. “For what it’s worth, Newkirk _did_ seem fine,” he said with more confidence than he now felt. “If it turns out he’s not, I hope he’ll actually come out and say so.” _But I doubt he will_ , he finished silently.

Judging by the skepticism that came to join the concern on Kinch’s face, he agreed with the silent addition. “I’ll talk to him about it when he gets back to camp.”

 _That_ conversation wouldn’t go well, Hogan was certain. “Maybe you should give him a chance to come to you first.” It was a low blow, using someone’s own words against them, but he was not above such tactics when they’d work. “What’s good for the German gander is good for the English gander, too,” he added in a much lighter tone.

Kinch looked equal parts abashed and amused. “You’re right, sir.” His grin was somewhat sheepish. “I guess I should listen to my own advice more often.”

“You _do_ give good advice,” Hogan agreed. He stood up and looked out the window. Nothing yet. The waiting game was always difficult for him. Not because he lacked patience, although, his patience _did_ have limits, but because waiting was all he could do then. If something had gone wrong, there was literally nothing he could do about it from here. It was all out of his hands.

He hated that feeling.

“I wonder what’s taking so long,” Kinch commented quietly. 

“I wish I knew, Kinch,” Hogan replied, managing not to sigh with difficulty. “I wish I knew.”


	70. General Inquiries

Burkhalter had waited until nearly 0930 before he called Stalag 13. While Berlin had promised to recall their General, he didn’t trust the Gestapo as far as he could throw them. He wanted to make certain that General Adler was actually gone.

And, if the General was still hanging around, there would be consequences. 

“Stalag 13, Kommandant’s office,” Klink’s secretary greeted.

Burkhalter wasted no time on pleasantries. “This is General Burkhalter. Can you connect me with Colonel Klink?”

“I’m sorry, General,” she said, sounding so, “but Colonel Klink is not here.”

And where would the Kommandant of a POW camp be at 9 in the morning if he wasn’t _at_ camp? “Do you know where he is?”

“No, sir,” she said. “Sergeant Schultz left to go get him. I don’t know when they’ll return.”

It was only the obvious distress in her voice that allowed Burkhalter to rein in his temper. “Have Colonel Klink call me the _moment_ he comes back.”

“Yes, General.”

He hung up the receiver, not sure if he was more annoyed or perplexed. Irregular. That was what it was. The man was an idiot, but Klink could usually be trusted to at least be _where_ he was supposed to be. But now, not only wasn’t he where he was supposed to be, he also apparently hadn’t left any indication of where he’d went.

There really wasn’t any point in trying to figure out why Klink would do such a thing: Burkhalter wasn‘t nearly stupid enough to know how that man’s mind worked. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“General Burkhalter?” Fraulein Ingrid asked from the doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is a Sergeant Schultz on the line for you. He says that it’s important.”

Burkhalter could have sworn that he’d told Klink’s secretary to have _Klink_ call him. “Send it here.”

She disappeared from the doorway. A moment later, his telephone rang.

He picked up the receiver. “There had better be a good reason that you’re calling me instead of Colonel Klink,” he growled by way of greeting.

“There is!” Schultz exclaimed in an earnest whisper. “I need your help. Corporal Langenscheidt and I are being held by the Gestapo. I believe Colonel Klink is here as well.”

Held by the Gestapo? If that were so, why hadn’t he been called by the Gestapo? As far as Burkhalter knew, the Gestapo didn’t generally allow those in their custody to make telephone calls! “What do you mean you’re being held by the Gestapo? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” came the affronted answer. “But please, hurry. I don’t know—”

Whatever particular thing of the myriad things the dimwitted Sergeant was claiming not to know went unheard as the line suddenly went dead. Burkhalter scowled at the receiver before hanging it up just long enough to break the connection. “Operator, please connect me to Gestapo Headquarters, Hammelburg.” If some of his men _were_ being held by the Gestapo, it was likely that they’d still be in the area.

Speaking with Major Hochstetter was not something Burkhalter enjoyed. Initiating a conversation with that man was likewise not something he enjoyed. So, for Sergeant Schultz’s sake, Hochstetter had _better_ have _someone_ in custody.

* * *

Burkhalter had been certain, when Major Hochstetter explained the reason why Colonel Klink was currently in Gestapo custody, that it was some sort of joke. Klink being suspected of murdering a Gestapo General? On its face, the idea of Klink actually murdering someone was preposterous. It seemed no less so after giving the matter more thought, but by then he’d come to the conclusion that the Major wasn’t trying to trick him: outside of imagining grandiose schemes to blame Klink’s Senior POW for, the man had neither the humor nor the imagination for pranks. 

That left him with the proposition that Klink actually _was_ a suspect in a murder investigation, which meant a trip to Hammelburg. What he didn’t understand was why Hochstetter hadn’t called him the moment he’d taken Klink into custody—what had Hochstetter thought he’d gain by not doing so? As angry as that disrespect made him, he appreciated the leverage the Major’s mistake had afforded him. As much as Burkhalter would have liked to file a complaint with the Major’s superiors over the unprofessional conduct, waiving that pleasure seemed a small price to pay for the grudging assurance that Hochstetter would not conduct any interrogations on any of his subordinates before Burkhalter arrived. 

He hadn’t been in the best of moods when he’d started his trip to the Gestapo headquarters, and his mood hadn’t improved any by the time he’d arrived. Burkhalter didn’t know who he was more annoyed with: Hochstetter for being Hochstetter or Klink for blundering into whatever mess he was in now. Needless to say, the effort of being courteous to the Gestapo Major was not an effort Burkhalter felt like making as he got out of the car. Still, noting the Gestapo Colonel standing beside him, Burkhalter decided there was no need to make things _unnecessarily_ difficult.

“General Burkhalter.” Hochstetter’s salute was crisp. 

The salute from the Colonel was slightly less so. His expression suggested either boredom or tiredness. 

Burkhalter returned the salutes. “I understand you have several of my subordinates in your custody.”

“That is correct,” the bored Colonel confirmed. “We’ve been waiting for you to arrive so we may interrogate Colonel Klink.” The tone was just shy of insubordinate rudeness. 

“Who are you?” Burkhalter asked, a bit miffed both by the tone and the fact that the man had to be asked to identify himself.

“Colonel Schmidt,” Schmidt answered, “from Gestapo headquarters in Berlin.” He smiled wearily. “My day has started very early, and I would like to start the interrogation, with your permission.”

The apologetic edge to the explanation mollified Burkhalter since he’d expected nothing of the kind. There wasn’t much point in asking about the mess Klink had gotten himself into yet—the Gestapo were cagey, to say the least. There were also other things Burkhalter had to attend to today. “Of course, Colonel. Let’s get this over with.”

The interrogation room turned out to be small, windowless, and just slightly too cool to be comfortable. Colonel Klink was already waiting there for them, sitting at a table opposite a young Gestapo Lieutenant. The first thing that struck Burkhalter was how awful Klink looked: dark circles under eyes that darted warily around the room, clothes that were rumpled, and wrists—peeking out from the sleeves of his uniform—that were red and raw. 

Klink’s mouth pulled back into a rictus smile when he noticed Burkhalter’s arrival. He stood up slowly, as though the action were painful, and saluted. “General Burkhalter.”

Burkhalter ignored the hail. “What happened to you?” He turned to glare at Hochstetter and Schmidt who had followed him in. “I was under the impression that the interrogation would wait until _after_ I arrived.”

Hochstetter actually looked wounded. “I have not touched him, General. This is how I found him this morning.”

“And you couldn’t have done something for his wrists?” Burkhalter had no love for the Kommandant of Stalag 13, but the blatant disrespect for a fellow member of the Luftwaffe made him seethe. 

“He declined the medical treatment we offered,” Hochstetter explained. 

Schmidt was smiling. “There’s no need to be concerned. We already know that Colonel Klink is not responsible for General Adler’s death; we only wish to know the circumstances surrounding the incident.”

The General who’d been murdered was that degenerate? Burkhalter supposed he should have guessed as much: what other Gestapo general had Klink been in contact with lately? And what Hochstetter had said earlier... They’d _found_ him? “You mean that General Adler wasn’t killed at Stalag 13?”

“Correct.” Schmidt’s tone seemed oddly pleased. “We in Berlin received an anonymous tip this morning, as did Major Hochstetter, concerning the location of General Adler’s body. Your Colonel was at the scene of the crime along with an Allied POW.”

“An Allied POW?” Burkhalter repeated. “Who? And where is he?”

“Corporal Newkirk.” Hochstetter grimaced. “He is in one of our holding cells. He has already been questioned.”

“You had no right,” Burkhalter said hotly. “Who gave you permission to do that?”

Before Hochstetter could say whatever ill-advised thing he’d been about to say, Schmidt clapped his hands to get their attention. “Gentlemen,” he admonished lightly, “this isn’t why we’re here.” He looked to Burkhalter. “Perhaps the Major overstepped his bounds, General, but the Englander wasn’t harmed—it was obvious that _he_ hadn’t committed this crime. We only wanted to know what happened last night.”

Burkhalter would see the truth of it for himself soon enough. “And what happened, Colonel?”

Schmidt rubbed his chin. “Unfortunately, the Englander’s command of our language is not especially good. He did not understand most of what was said, so his story was vague. I am hoping that Colonel Klink can provide us with a clearer picture of General Adler’s last moments.” He gestured dismissively towards Klink who shrank back. “You will be hearing the whole story as we do.”

And what a story it was! Burkhalter listened to his subordinate’s tale with growing disbelief. It wasn’t that the story was incredible, which it was, but the fact that they never should have been out of camp in the first place. As if that wasn’t enough to account for Burkhalter’s confusion, there was Colonel Schmidt’s casual acceptance of everything Klink said. The whole scenario started off wrong, got more wrong as it went on, and Schmidt didn’t seem to notice. And, if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

Major Hochstetter looked more displeased than he usually did, but Burkhalter couldn’t assign a meaning to that. For all he knew, the Major had indigestion. 

But neither Hochstetter nor Schmidt pointed out the fact that an escaped prisoner who was caught without fuss or fanfare didn’t require an interrogation by Gestapo. Neither one said that taking a prisoner out of camp for that purpose made no sense when there was a perfectly good place to conduct interrogations in camp. Neither one asked why the only people in the staff car had been Colonel Klink, General Adler, and a prisoner.

While Burkhalter wanted to say these things, he found himself reluctant to do so in front of these men. As much as he hated the Gestapo, he knew they weren’t stupid. His objections to Klink’s story _must_ have occurred to them and, for whatever reason, they weren’t making those objections. He had no way of knowing what those reasons might be: it seemed better to stay quiet until he knew.

So, impatiently, he waited.

“And then Major Hochstetter found me this morning,” Klink finished. He looked at his interrogators, his face pale, nervous, and tired. He smiled a simpering smile. 

Schmidt nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Colonel.” He stood and turned his attention to Hochstetter. “I think we are finished here. I’d like you to oversee the evidence transfer as we discussed. I want to be on my way as soon as possible.”

Hochstetter looked momentarily nonplussed. “You don’t want to speak with the Sergeant first?”

The Colonel shook his head. “No reason to,” he said as though the suggestion had been ridiculous. “He won’t have any new light to shed on this for us: he wasn’t even there when the incident occurred.”

“I see.” Hochstetter’s displeasure couldn’t have been more obvious, but he made no further objections as he scooped up the notes he’d written. “I will see to the transfer at once,” he said stiffly. He saluted and didn’t wait for it to be returned before he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Schmidt watched him go, annoyed. “That temper of his will be trouble,” he commented to no one in particular. Then he seemed to remember he wasn’t alone. He shook his head and looked at Burkhalter. “I’d like to have a word with you in private, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Seeing no reason not to, Burkhalter followed him out into the hall. “What is it?” he asked once the interrogation room door was shut behind him. 

“As far as I am concerned, General, this investigation is over.”

That was interesting. “A fairly short investigation, isn’t it?”

An unconcerned shrug. “It all seems fairly clear cut to me. As I told Major Hochstetter, I’m convinced that General Adler ran afoul of one of those underground groups: you seem to have so many of them around here.” Reaching into his pocket, Schmidt retrieved a business card. He held it out for Burkhalter to take. 

Burkhalter didn’t believe Schmidt actually believed that. His nonchalance was a poor fit with conviction and, to Burkhalter’s knowledge, even if Adler’s killer _was_ a terrorist, that didn’t mean that further investigation would not yield an identity. There was simply no reason to end the investigation so soon. 

At least now he knew why Hochstetter had been so much less pleasant than usual. “What’s this?” he asked as he took the card from Schmidt.

“My contact information.” Without waiting to be asked, Schmidt elucidated, “If the Major tries to question any of your staff about this incident, I would be grateful if you would let me know.”

Briefly, Burkhalter wondered if the disinterest in bringing Adler’s killer to justice had anything to do with the rumors he’d heard before deciding he didn’t care. The degenerate was no longer at Stalag 13 and was no longer Burkhalter’s concern. Although, having something to use against Major Hochstetter _was_ a nice bonus. The card found a new home in his pocket. “My pleasure.”

Schmidt smiled. “Then allow me to show you gentlemen out.”

“I’d like to have a word with my subordinate first,” Burkhalter said before Schmidt could turn from him. “Alone.”

The Colonel’s expression was one of mild curiosity, but there was a warning in his tone when he spoke. “This matter does not concern the events we’ve just discussed, I trust.”

“No,” Burkhalter said flatly, refusing to be intimidated by some upstart from Berlin. “This concerns Luftwaffe protocol.”

After a split-second’s hesitation, Schmidt nodded his assent. “Of course, General. Take as much time as you need. I will post a guard outside the door to lead you out once you’re finished.” He paused. Then, with the barest hint of sarcasm: “If that’s agreeable.”

“Very generous,” Burkhalter said, pretending he hadn’t noticed. “It shouldn’t take very long.” At least, he _hoped_ it wouldn’t take very long: he _did_ have other business to attend to today!

Schmidt returned to the interrogation room long enough to retrieve the Lieutenant whose name Burkhalter had never learned. Once the Lieutenant was stationed outside the door and Schmidt had left, Burkhalter reentered the room himself. 

Klink was smiling, clearly relieved, and he made to stand—

“Just a moment, Klink,” Burkhalter said sharply, making the other man start. “There are some things that don’t make sense to me.”

Klink stared at Burkhalter with undisguised fear as he retook his seat. “An-and what would they be?”

Burkhalter wasn’t generally one for hesitation or second guessing himself, but he took a moment to ask himself if he wanted to pry where the Gestapo hadn’t. “Why did you allow General Adler to take a prisoner from camp?” When Klink opened his mouth, Burkhalter interrupted, not giving the other man a chance to insult his intelligence. “Do not lie to me: you’re not much good at it.”

A flinch. Then a hesitation before Klink’s expression became serious. “Can this be off the record, General?”

Off the record? It didn’t get much more suspicious than that! Considering who was involved and the rumors Burkhalter had heard, he’d been hoping against hope that there had been some innocent explanation for Klink’s blatant disregard of protocol. He felt himself frown. “Answer the question, Klink.” At Klink’s sudden trapped look, he relented. “I’ll decide afterward whether or not it’s on the record.”

The Colonel slumped, his earlier relief all but gone. It was strange: Burkhalter didn’t think he’d ever seen Klink look so defeated. While normally craven under pressure, there seemed to be a sort of fragility about him now, as though he might shatter at the slightest push.

Very strange.

Finally, Klink spoke, the harshness of his tone at odds with his defeated, fragile posture. “I was going to kill him. The prisoner was … he was bait.”

Burkhalter’s mouth fell open. _Klink_ had been planning to murder someone? Actual premeditated murder? From the man who was terrified of going into combat? The only question he could ask under the circumstances burst from him. “Why?”

“It was the only way to stop him,” Klink said, his voice still harsh, his expression twisting into something murderous. “He deserved nothing less than to be put down.” He looked up, his manner abruptly pleading. “Those men are my responsibility, aren’t they? I … I had to protect them from that monster.”

Burkhalter’s mouth closed into a tight line. The pieces were coming together, yes, but the picture was still jumbled. “If General Adler was planning to do something... out of line with your prisoners, why not come to me?” He shook his head, annoyed all over again at his subordinate’s stupidity. “I _warned_ you about him: I would have believed you.”

“I wasn’t worried about you believing me,” Klink said softly. 

“Then why!” Burkhalter demanded.

Klink stared at him for a long moment with an almost palpable despair. Then his expression hardened into something determined, and his hands went to the front of his jacket. They were trembling but with what, Burkhalter couldn’t guess.

He’d taken off his jacket completely, laying it on the table in front of him, before Burkhalter thought to ask him what he was doing.

“I’m showing you why I couldn’t come to you.”

With the jacket off, Burkhalter could see bruises encircling Klink’s throat. As his subordinate began unbuttoning the shirt, he could see them clearly enough to realize what had made them. With the evident hatred Klink had towards Adler, it was equally clear to Burkhalter _who_ had made them. But why hadn’t Klink reported anything if Adler had attacked him? The bruises would have proved his side of the story fairly well, from the look of things. And murder? _Murder_? That was the Gestapo’s purview, not the Luftwaffe’s! Never mind the question of why a Gestapo general would attack a Luftwaffe colonel in the first place.

A possible answer to that last came to mind even as he thought of the question. The only thing strange about the idea that Adler had attacked Klink to gain access to the prisoners was the implication that Adler would have had to go as far as actually laying a hand on the Colonel. Burkhalter would have thought that Klink was too cowardly to refuse any order from a member of the Gestapo regardless of what it was.

Of course, he also would have thought that Klink didn’t have it in him to plan someone’s murder as well, and it seemed he’d been mistaken about that. Perhaps there were other things he he’d been mistaken about. “Why did Adler attack you?”

Klink’s hands stopped working the buttons, but he didn’t look up from his task. Just as Burkhalter was going to ask again, he spoke with a tone too angry and defeated to match the manic grin he was wearing. “You’re warning came too late for me, General.” He resumed his task and laughed. It was a dead, hollow sound. “Not that it would have helped.”

Burkhalter didn’t know what to think, let alone what to _say_. His warning had been about Adler possibly molesting the prisoners—how could it have come too late for _Klink_? If Adler had attacked Klink to get access to his prisoners, the only explanation that made any kind of sense, that didn’t explain why Klink had thought he couldn’t come forward with this. Embarrassment, perhaps?

Although, if embarrassment was the reason he hadn’t reported anything, it seemed to Burkhalter as though undressing in front of a superior officer would be far more embarrassing than admitting to being throttled by a younger, stronger man. He also couldn’t imagine what sort of answer Klink was trying to provide with this display. “Stop that,” he snapped, not wanting to see just how far Klink was planning to go. “I don’t need to see any more of you.”

Obligingly, Klink’s hands fell from his now opened shirt. White bands, bandages, were wrapped around his chest. An ugly bruise on his stomach drew Burkhalter’s attention to smaller bruises peeking up from the waistband of Klink’s pants at his hips. Klink folded his hands on his lap and looked down, turning his face away from Burkhalter. “Do you see now?”

Even assuming Adler was responsible for all these injuries, Klink’s actions still didn’t make any sense. Burkhalter could feel his temper rising again as his mouth twisted into a frown. “No, I don’t see. Why didn’t you report this? Even you aren’t stupid enough to think that rank has,” he gestured towards Klink’s bruises, “ _that_ much privilege!” 

Burkhalter saw Klink cringing under the onslaught and closed his eyes. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and while it was satisfying to yell at Klink when he was being particularly idiotic, indulging in that pastime now would not be productive.

“I couldn’t report it,” Klink offered timidly, “not without getting a discharge.”

“A discharge?” Burkhalter echoed, incredulous. He’d been about to comment on the utter idiocy of such an idea when he stopped short, a tendril of thought sending a shiver of horror through him. Perhaps, there _was_ something besides access to his prisoners that Adler had wanted from Klink. Something that would have kept Klink from coming forward; something that _would_ get Klink discharged. Something that explained why his warning had come too late for _Klink_.

But, surely, that wasn’t it. No one could be stupid enough to risk dishonorable discharge, among other things, to molest a fellow officer. Even if the Gestapo thought they were better than the Luftwaffe, surely, they wouldn’t go after one of their own countrymen! Would they? “Tell me what happened between you and Adler.”

Klink looked startled by the question. Then his face fell with resignation. “You know what happened,” he returned dully.

It was all Burkhalter could do not to roll his eyes. “If I knew what happened,” he said, doing his best to rein in his temper, “I would not be asking.” He felt his frustration growing, yes, but beneath it was a sick, nervousness he couldn’t deny. There had to be some reason why Klink was so reluctant to talk, after all. He needed to know exactly what that reason was. “Just answer my question.”

Klink did not look up. “Why does everyone want to hear me say it?”

Everyone? Who the hell was _everyone_? “Who the hell is ‘everyone’!”

The silence stretched. “Hogan,” Klink said at last. “Colonel Hogan found out about it.” A mirthless chuckle. “You and I, we haven’t been giving him enough credit.”

Now he knew who _everyone_ was, but he still didn’t know what _everyone_ knew! What was ‘it’? Why was Klink so reluctant to say this thing? The nervousness grew in his gut. “Tell me what he found out,” Burkhalter demanded.

“You already know what he did to me,” Klink exclaimed, sounding almost petulant. He lifted his head enough to glare at Burkhalter. “Are you _enjoying_ this?”

“No, I’m not.” Despite his best efforts, Burkhalter felt his hold on his temper slipping. Why was the idiot insisting on making this difficult? “And I’m going to transfer you to the _Russian Front_ if you keep avoiding my question!”

Klink blenched, but said nothing. He turned his head away.

Burkhalter had been about to follow his threat up with another when he noticed the bruise on the side of Klink’s face, the one he’d asked about when he’d visited Stalag 13 the other day. He’d been almost positive then that Klink had lied about where he’d gotten it, but he hadn’t called him on his lie. He’d decided then that he didn’t really want to know. 

Now, he had to know. And he knew the only way he was ever going to get a clear answer from Klink. “This is off the record,” he said, surprising himself with his own vehemence. “Now, tell me what exactly Adler did to you.”

The silence stretched between them as Klink visibly settled himself. When he spoke, his voice sounded lifeless. His usually telegraphic face offered nothing. “General Adler blackmailed me. He said that he would accuse me of being part of a conspiracy to assassinate the Führer if I refused. He told me he’d take what he wanted whether I cooperated with him or not.” His impassive mask cracked as did his voice. “I-I believed him when he said he, he could do that. So, I agreed to, to,” he trailed off, his eyes filling with tears. “I agreed to let him use me. Sexually.”

“You _idiot_.” Fury filled Burkhalter though he couldn’t have said why he was suddenly so angry with the man sitting in front of him. He stood and loomed over Klink. “What is wrong with you! Why didn’t you call me; why didn’t you tell me!”

Klink’s answering laughter was nearly hysterical. “General Burkhalter!” he exclaimed as he held an imaginary telephone receiver up to his ear. “General Burkhalter, General Adler is threatening to tell the Gestapo that I’m involved in a plot to kill the Führer unless I agree to let him fuck me. Please! Help me!”

The newest laughter that burst from his subordinate made him wince. It wasn’t the sound, although the histrionics were even more grating than what ordinarily came out of Klink’s mouth. It was the simultaneous unambiguous confirmation of what exactly had happened to his subordinate and the realization that, had Klink made this call, Burkhalter would have been hard pressed to come up with a solution. Assuming he even believed the Colonel’s story.

After all, he’d only been made aware of the rumors surrounding the Gestapo General about half a week ago. Even now, knowing what he knew and seeing what he’d seen, he still found it a bit difficult to believe that Adler had done what Klink implied he had. Of course, had he believed Klink then, what would he have done? What could he have done? Burkhalter recalled when Klink’s friend had been arrested and later executed for the same crime. It had only been luck that had saved Klink from a similar fate. If Adler had decided to pursue his threat, the Colonel’s military career, and Burkhalter’s for defending him, would be damaged even in the case of an acquittal. If Burkhalter had tried to get Adler charged for his attempted blackmail … considering what the General had been demanding from Klink, Klink’s reputation would not have survived a trial. General Adler was no doubt smart enough and vindictive enough to make sure of that.

Still, it irked him that he’d, apparently, not been one of the first to know what had happened to his subordinate. That was what irked him. What outraged him was that Berlin had allowed a man like Adler free rein for so long without throwing him in prison where his kind belonged. 

But the annoyance and the anger were impotent in the face of his guilt. He, too, had a share of responsibility for what Klink had gone through. He’d cared so little about yet another inspection of the most successful Stalag in Germany that he simply hadn’t bothered finding out who was performing this one. When he’d heard the name of the general in Klink’s office, he’d realized what a mistake he’d made, even if he hadn’t known then the extent of the damage. 

Maybe, if he’d done some looking into things before _then_ , before Adler had even left Berlin, he could have requested someone else—anyone else!—and, maybe, this whole unpleasantness could have been avoided. Perhaps, if he’d pressed Klink and got the truth out of him when he’d visited Stalag 13, General Adler would still be alive and Klink would not have tried to murder him.

But he hadn’t. The fact of the matter was that he’d failed in his duty. Burkhalter didn’t like Klink: Klink was a stupid, simpering, whimpering, little worm most of the time. However, whether he liked the man or not, the Colonel was his subordinate—he had a responsibility to him, which made much of this mess _his_ responsibility. 

He looked to Klink whose laughter had long since subsided. He sat there with his head in his hands, shaking with silent sobs. Pathetic, yes, but Burkhalter couldn’t summon up his usual sneer in the face of it. Not when his own inaction had made it possible. But what to do now? 

Unfortunately, Klink had been right about one thing: reporting what Adler had done would have meant a discharge for Klink. So, even with Adler dead this whole mess had to stay a secret. Burkhalter was willing to stay quiet, not only because of his guilt but also because it was obvious that what had happened hadn’t been Klink’s fault. There were two defining characteristics to the man, after all: he was a coward, and he was an idiot. If he’d been a deviant all along, he would never have been brave enough to attempt to act on it, and he never would have been smart enough to keep it secret for long if he had. 

Still, there were also practical considerations. Could Klink still do his job as Kommandant of Stalag 13? Could he still keep those POWs in line—especially now when his Senior POW _knew_ about what Adler had done? The last thing Burkhalter needed was to have a prisoner being able to blackmail the camp Kommandant! If not, there were ways to make Klink’s transfer elsewhere look like a promotion, of sorts. But Burkhalter would rather that the Colonel stay at Stalag 13 because, for whatever reason, Klink was _good_ at keeping the prisoners from leaving.

“Is Colonel Hogan going to be a problem?” 

Klink looked up, confused. His face was wet. “A-a problem?”

“Yes,” Burkhalter said, doing his best to be patient. It was a struggle. “He knows what General Adler did to you, correct?” At Klink’s slow nod, he continued. “Do you think he would try to use that information against you?”

Inexplicably, Klink smiled. “No, sir. That shouldn’t be a problem.” His brow furrowed for a moment. “We have an understanding. Don’t worry about _that_.”

This wasn’t a lie like the one about his bruise. Burkhalter decided not to press, for now. He could find out later what sort of ‘understanding’ they had. “If it _does_ turn out to be a problem,” he said seriously, “then I want you to contact me. Right away. Understood?”

Klink had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was wiping his face. “Understood, General.” Then he looked surprised again. “You’re not going to have me discharged?”

This time, Burkhalter did roll his eyes. “What part of ‘This is off the record’ don’t you understand?” Not especially caring what Klink’s answer would be, he went on. “Get yourself dressed, clean yourself up, and get back to your Stalag, Klink.” 

The Colonel got to his feet, pained but determined. He saluted crisply. “Yes, sir.”

Burkhalter returned the salute and turned away to leave the other man to his dressing. He heard a heartfelt “Thank you” as he started walking towards the door but did not stop to acknowledge it. He didn’t need his subordinate’s gratitude; he didn’t want it. The sooner he could leave this place behind him, the better. He shut the door with slightly more force than necessary.

The young Gestapo Lieutenant was waiting for him. Salutes were exchanged. “I was told to take you and Colonel Klink back to the first floor.” He frowned. “Where is the Colonel?”

“You can come back for him,” Burkhalter said brusquely. “I’ve spent enough time here already.” With any luck, there would be enough time for Klink to pull himself back together before he was disturbed. 

If the Lieutenant was annoyed by this, he was clever enough not to give voice to it. “Very well, General. This way, please.”

The trip back to the first floor had been short. Too short. Luckily, there were several things to attend to here and now that would take a bit more time. “I understand that a Luftwaffe Sergeant and Corporal are being held here as well. I would like to see them immediately.”

This time, the Lieutenant wasn’t quite able to hide his displeasure. “Yes, sir,” he said as he turned to lead him back the way they’d come. The room where Sergeant Schultz and Corporal … Corporal What’shisname were being held was another interrogation room down the hall from the one that held Colonel Klink. He noted, as he entered the room after the Lieutenant, that neither man was handcuffed. 

The Sergeant hastily climbed to his feet and saluted, followed by the Luftwaffe Corporal who had been sitting beside him. “General Burkhalter!” he exclaimed as he saluted. “You came.”

Burkhalter frowned, annoyed by the Sergeant’s surprise. “Is there some reason why I would not come and check on my subordinates?” Before the guard could waste his time attempting to answer that, he moved on to a more interesting question. “Why were you detained by the Gestapo in the first place?”

“Colonel Klink was missing, General,” Schultz explained. “He did not return last night, so we went out to look for him.”

Mindful of the Gestapo lieutenant anxiously waiting for this errand to be over, Burkhalter didn’t ask why Schultz had went along with Adler and Klink leaving camp alone with a prisoner. While Klink hadn’t mentioned anyone else knowing of his circumstances besides the American POW, Burkhalter hadn’t asked either. “Why not contact the authorities and have _them_ look for him?” he asked instead. 

“Oh,” Schultz began in a tone that tried for airy but landed in nervous, “I would not want to bother the authorities because the Kommandant had car trouble.”

It made sense, in a way. Burkhalter didn’t believe him for a moment, but it sounded reasonable enough for the dim-witted guard to think. “You will be taking Colonel Klink and Corporal Newkirk back to Stalag 13 as soon as you are able. Make certain that they get there.”

Schultz made a motion, as though he were going to salute again, before realizing he was already saluting. “Yessir!” 

Burkhalter returned it before returning his attention to his guide. “I want these men released immediately.”

The Lieutenant looked distinctly unhappy. “I need to confirm that with Major Hochstetter, General.”

“Nonsense!” came a soft exclamation from behind them. Burkhalter turned to see Colonel Schmidt approaching them. He was smiling. “Release them.”

A crisp salute from the Lieutenant. “Yes, sir.” Then he hesitated. “But what if Major Hochstetter—”

“Major Hochstetter can take it up with me,” Schmidt interrupted, his smile never dimming. He looked to Burkhalter. “Where is Colonel Klink?”

Before Burkhalter had a chance to say, the Lieutenant answered for him. “He’s still in the interrogation room. Colonel Klink wasn’t ready to go but the General insisted on being on his way.”

“Excellent,” Schmidt said. “There was a matter I wanted to discuss with him anyway.” 

“Oh?” Burkhalter asked, trying not to sound suspicious but failing. “What about, Colonel?”

“Only the same minutia that I had to discuss with you,” Schmidt explained, his soft voice gaining a slight edge. “It’s better to discuss some things in private, don’t you agree?”

Burkhalter felt his eyes narrow. It sounded plausible enough, he supposed. He just didn’t quite believe it. If Schmidt only wanted to have the same conversation with Klink that he’d had with Burkhalter, why hadn’t he saved some time and spoken to both of them at once? But then, if _that_ wasn’t what Schmidt wanted to talk to Klink about, that left what _was_?

Perhaps … perhaps this was about General Adler’s proclivities. After all, for a degenerate like Adler, a POW camp might be too much to resist. It was possible that Schmidt wanted to know if Adler had done something on Klink’s watch. Although, to what end was difficult to imagine now that Adler was dead.

Whatever Schmidt’s true purpose, Burkhalter saw no way around allowing the man to speak with his subordinate privately. There was no real reason to deny the request—mistrust of the Gestapo on principle notwithstanding. He’d just have to hope that Klink had had enough time to pull himself together. Then again, if Klink couldn’t manage a conversation with this Colonel, there was little hope he’d be able to fulfill his duties. It could be a test, of sorts.

“Of course, Colonel,” Burkhalter said at last. “When you’re finished with him, he’ll be returning to Stalag 13 with these men,” he gestured to Schultz and the Corporal, “along with the POW you’re holding.”

“Naturally,” Schmidt returned. He looked to the Lieutenant who was watching the conversation with interest. “Have Corporal Newkirk released into their custody right away.”

The Lieutenant saluted again. “Yes, sir.”

As he waited for the Lieutenant to do as he’d been ordered, Burkhalter found himself considering the Klink problem. While he tried to be optimistic about Klink’s future performance, optimism was not one of Burkhalter’s strengths. Perhaps, in a week’s time, he ought to stop by Stalag 13, just to check in on things. If Klink was doing well, it still wouldn’t hurt to check in on him a little more often. If not, Burkhalter would have to come up with another solution.

He hoped that another solution would not be necessary.


	71. Questioning Answers

After Klink had finished buttoning his uniform jacket, he took stock of himself. His body ached with his old injuries, and he felt stiff and sore from having spent so much time sitting in uncomfortable chairs. Now that the fear and adrenaline that had kept him alert for the interrogations had faded away, his thoughts were slow and choppy, like the notes of a music box as it wound down. 

General Burkhalter had told him to get back to camp. How was he going to accomplish that? He was in no condition to drive! Not that he had a car _to_ drive. At least, he thought the car was still on Grafweg. He hadn’t heard any differently. Of course, no one had told him much of anything, so that didn’t mean anything. 

He shook his head, attempting to clear it. No, he had to focus. He had to get out of here. To do that, he’d have to call someone from Stalag 13 to pick him up. To do that, he had to find a telephone and make a call. To do _that_ , he had to find someone to let him out of this room. Unless the door was unlocked. Then he could leave himself.

And go where? He didn’t know his way around this place! He certainly didn’t know where all the telephones were. Although, he didn’t need to know where _all_ the telephones were. One telephone would be enough. 

He felt himself start nodding off, and he forced his eyes back open. He had to get out of here before he fell asleep. While he desperately wanted to sleep, he didn’t think sleeping here was all that wise. Carefully, he stood. Feeling confident in his ability to support himself, he took an unsteady step away from the table. Check the door first. If he could get out on his own, that made the prospect of finding someone much more likely! 

Klink supposed, as he slowly made his way to the door, that he could save the time spent looking for a telephone and ask Major Hochstetter for transportation instead. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to ask Hochstetter for help. Another ride with the Gestapo was probably the last thing his nerves needed. No, better to find a telephone and call. 

Before he reached the door, it opened to reveal Colonel Schmidt. His smile was pleased and immediately set Klink on edge. “Ah, Colonel Klink,” he greeted, “I was told I could find you here. Excellent.” Like it had been during the interrogation, his voice was soft and his tone friendly.

Klink didn’t trust either for an instant. Suspicion sliced through the fog around his brain, bringing his awareness into painfully sharp focus. “What do you want?” he asked. Between his distrust and his fatigue, the question had come out far more tersely than he’d meant.

Schmidt raised an eyebrow. “I have a matter to discuss with you.” He shut the door behind him and locked it before walking passed Klink. He swung the chair Klink had been sitting in away from the table. “Please. Take a seat.”

Fear and dread roiled in his stomach as Klink followed the order. What could Schmidt want to talk to him about? Hadn’t the interrogation been enough? And why lock the door—the door hadn’t been locked the _first_ time Schmidt had spoken with him! 

His paranoia supplied possible answers to his questions. He clenched trembling hands into fists and rested them on top of his thighs. “What is this about, Colonel?”

Schmidt came to stand a couple feet in front of Klink, uncomfortably close. His stance was undeniably predatory. “You seem very ill at ease,” he noted coolly. “This shouldn’t take long.”

The first flames of panic started to grow despite Klink’s efforts to stamp them down. He was alone with this man. Alone in a locked room. In a room where no one could hear them. While Schmidt’s lanky form didn’t look particularly strong, Klink doubted he’d be able to do much to fight him in his current condition. If Schmidt wanted to, he could—

Klink swallowed hard and tried to force the thought away. “Wh-what shouldn’t take long?”

Piercing brown eyes narrowed. “Do you have some reason to be so worried, Colonel?” Then he smiled again, showing too many teeth. “Or are you always this uncomfortable around the Gestapo?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I know our reputation _is_ quite intimidating, but I usually have to threaten someone before they’re in the state _you’re_ in.”

As Schmidt scrutinized him, Klink couldn’t help but see more to the other man’s gaze than simple calculation. Something hungry. Perhaps, something appreciative as well? Was Schmidt actually leering at him?

Klink felt his fingernails press painfully into his palms. No. No. No. Whatever Schmidt’s interest in him was, it had nothing to do with what Adler’s interest had been. Nothing was going to happen. Schmidt wasn’t going to do what Adler had done. He wasn’t.

Since Klink didn’t know Schmidt on any kind of level, these reassurances were unconvincing. In contrast, his paranoia was having an easy time of filling his brain with thoughts that made his panic steadily rise. It had an even easier time of it when Schmidt leaned in closer to stare intently at his face. 

Without warning, Schmidt’s hand darted out and caught hold of Klink’s chin. 

Terror held Klink rigid in the other man’s grasp. He could feel sweat beading on his brow as his heart thrummed against his sternum. His eyes widened as Schmidt’s face came even closer to his own. This couldn’t be happening. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see the hit or the kiss or whatever else Schmidt was planning to do coming. 

“You didn’t mention getting hit.” There was a frown in Schmidt’s voice. “This looks older than last night. What’s this?” Another hand pushed down Klink’s collar, and his head was forced to tilt to the side. Both hands came away. “Take off your shirt.”

Klink opened his eyes to stare up into Schmidt’s hard ones. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” Schmidt said, his tone frighteningly bland.

 _Are all members of the Gestapo perverts_ , Klink thought with disgusted disbelief, _or am I just extremely unlucky_? His hands were shaking badly as he attempted to follow Schmidt’s order. He couldn’t help but think about all the other men he’d stripped in front of lately: Wilson, Hogan, Schultz, Burkhalter, Adler, and now Schmidt. Perhaps he ought to pursue a new profession! Hysterics bubbled up through his fear, and he actually tittered before he realized what he was doing.

Removing the jacket was difficult between the stiffness in his shoulders and his reluctance to undress in front of this man. Klink carefully set the jacket on the table. He glanced up at Schmidt, praying that he had changed his mind. 

“What are you waiting for?”

Klink bit back a sigh, and started on his shirt. He’d been so certain that he’d never have to suffer through this degradation again. He’d thought that his nightmare had ended last night. Apparently, he’d been far too optimistic once again. This would teach him never to entertain a positive thought. 

All too soon, the shirt joined his jacket on the table. Klink shivered both from the loss of protection against Schmidt’s searching gaze as well as the chill in the air. When Schmidt stepped forward and took hold of Klink’s forearm, Klink turned his head away. He stared at the clothes on the table and tried not to think about Schmidt’s fingers pressing into tender parts of his flesh. Tried not to think of what Schmidt would do once he was done playing.

“What is this bandage for?” Schmidt asked, his confusion plain.

“My back.” Klink was surprised he was able to say that much. His mouth was dry and his throat was tight. He knew what was coming next, but he still couldn’t keep himself from starting at fingers on his back, sliding under the top of the bandage, gently pulling the cloth up. A pained hiss passed Klink’s teeth as his injured skin protested being exposed. 

He heard Schmidt curse under his breath. Then the fingers were gone. 

Since Klink was already looking in that direction, he saw Schmidt come around the table to sit in the chair across from him. His expression was unreadable. “I didn’t plan for this,” he said after a long silence. His impassive mask fell away to reveal irritation, and he massaged his temples. “Get your clothes back on.”

Klink did so as swiftly as he was able. He was grateful for the small barrier the table provided, and he was relieved that the Gestapo officer was no longer touching him, but his fear had not abated. His breathing was too shallow. He felt jittery, like he’d drunk too much coffee and then had almost been hit by a speeding car out of nowhere. He licked dry lips. “What do you want?”

Instead of offering an answer, Schmidt pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket and offered Klink a cigarette. 

“No. No, thank you.” Although Klink preferred cigars, he’d smoked the odd cigarette in his time. He probably could have used one to settle himself a bit, but he didn’t want to bring attention to his shaking hands.

“Suit yourself,” Schmidt said as he selected a cigarette of his own. He lit it and smoked it without evident pleasure; his face a picture of unhappy concentration. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them which rapidly grew unbearable for Klink’s still taxed nerves. 

As much as Klink preferred not to have Schmidt’s attention on him, it soon came to the point where he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Please. What’s this all about?”

Schmidt tapped another length of ash into the ash tray, his expression settling into something pensive. “I believe General Adler is responsible for your injuries,” he said at last. 

Klink was too shocked by the leap of logic to even try denying it. What reason did Schmidt have to think _Adler_ was responsible? For all Schmidt knew, Klink had fallen down some stairs, or … well, falling down stairs probably wouldn’t explain the bruises on his neck, he supposed. Or the wounds on his back. Still, that didn’t necessarily mean that _Adler_ had been the one to make them! 

“I’d thought that you might have willingly gone along with the General,” Schmidt continued, seeming to take Klink’s stunned silence as confirmation, “or that you were ignorant of his motives.” He snubbed out his finished cigarette. “I see now that there were other possibilities. My only question now is did he only use force to gain access to your prisoner or did he do something more.”

The oblique questions were doing little for Klink’s peace of mind: he was tired, frightened, and being toyed with was not improving his mood. While it was fairly obvious where this was going, it wasn’t obvious _enough_ for Klink to throw all caution to the wind and incriminate himself. Maybe all the members of the Gestapo weren’t perverts, but they all seemed to enjoy playing games. 

Klink had had his fill of games with Adler. He wasn’t interested in playing any more. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Schmidt stared at him with dull contempt. “I don’t have time for games, Colonel.”

“You’re the one playing them,” Klink snapped, his fear losing ground to his temper. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

“I _want_ information,” Schmidt replied, sounding like his control over his own temper was starting to slip. “Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or do I have to have you take off the rest of your clothes so I can get the answer myself?”

Before he could halt the motion, Klink wrapped his arms protectively around his middle. “I’m not going to do that.”

A thin smile. “I don’t need your cooperation.”

Despite the soft delivery, Klink could tell that this was a real threat. His hold around himself tightened. He could almost feel Schmidt’s hands on him already, and he shuddered. He felt trapped. Pinned. Powerless. What did Schmidt _want_ from him? “What do you want me to say?” he asked, unable to hide his rekindling panic. 

“Did General Adler sodomize you or not?” There was no empathy in Schmidt’s eyes or in his voice, but there was no disgust either. There was nothing to suggest what his reaction would be if Klink told him the truth. He seemed merely impatient. 

Compared the Colonel Schmidt, General Adler had been a book opened to the index! Despite his paranoia’s continued warnings, Klink was almost certain now that Schmidt had no interest in repeating what Adler had done. At the same time, however, Klink was _completely_ certain that he was not actually _safe_. For all he knew, all Schmidt really wanted was a confession.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Shaking his head, Klink refocused his attention on Schmidt. He swallowed hard. “He … General Adler, he,” he felt bile rising in his throat and swallowed again to force it back down, “sodomized me.”

Schmidt lit another cigarette, his expression still inscrutable. “Did you know what he planned to do to your prisoner?”

“How could I not know?” Klink could have laughed, but it really wasn’t funny. “Adler made that very clear.”

“Hmm.” Schmidt closed his eyes for a long moment. “You agreed to let the General sodomize one of your prisoners?” The soft tone offered no judgment, only curiosity. 

Klink wished he knew why this was important to Schmidt. _If_ it was important: it was impossible to tell what he thought about any of this. He doubted Schmidt would give him a straight answer if he asked. Unfortunately, that left Klink floundering. What to say? Which version of the truth? Even if he wanted to be honest, there was only so honest he _could_ be! 

“It’s a yes or no question, Colonel.”

Finally, Klink came to a decision. The worst case scenario that he could think of was that Schmidt wanted a full accounting of his crimes so he’d know what to charge him with. If that were the case, what Klink had already divulged was enough to send him to prison—he had little left to lose. And, if he were going to be punished, he’d rather be punished as himself. “I’d planned to shoot him before he could do that.”

Schmidt regarded him with a type of skepticism Klink was fairly familiar with: the sort that didn’t disbelieve the attempt would be made but doubted there would be success. He shook his head. “You’re lucky someone else shot him first.” The side of his mouth quirked up. “Though, it would have made _my_ job easier.” Having had no desire to know what that meant, Klink was just as happy when Schmidt switched to a different topic. “How many other people know about what happened to you?”

 _Too many_ , Klink thought flippantly. Then he frowned. What did that have to do with anything? “Why do you want to know that?”

Schmidt remained silent long enough for Klink to wonder if he would answer the question at all. “You’re involved in a matter that could become quite embarrassing for Berlin,” he said casually, as though discussing an inconvenient stretch of rain. “As an officer in the Luftwaffe, you’re not subject to Gestapo authority in the military sense. We could not just order you to be silent.”

Klink blinked, surprised Schmidt would even be concerned about that. “What reason would _I_ have to say anything about this?” He tried to smile. “I’m not that anxious to be discharged, I assure you.”

“You could decide to take that chance,” Schmidt argued, “to punish Berlin for allowing this to happen in the first place.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Berlin may decide not to risk that. However, if you’ve told others what happened to you, removing only you wouldn’t be enough.” A wry smile. “You understand: were details about Adler’s activities to become common knowledge, Berlin would have to answer to the public—which would undermine their authority.”

For a moment, Klink wasn’t certain whether he felt more frightened or insulted. The idea of being murdered by the Gestapo after everything he’d done to avoid that fate was a bitter pill to swallow, to be sure. The fact that he was currently locked up in a room with a man who seemed utterly unconcerned by the notion was frankly terrifying. What if Schmidt decided not to wait and took the matter into his own hands?

However, it was the idea that Schmidt seemed to be expecting him to willingly consign those in his confidence to the same fate that made Klink truly angry. Schultz, Hilda, Hogan and his men—they didn’t deserve to be ‘removed’ for their compassion and support. He hadn’t let Adler hurt them: he certainly didn’t plan to let this man hurt them either! His outrage compelled him to stand, barely cognizant of his aches as he came to his full height. He glowered down at Schmidt. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Schmidt looked almost bored as he continued smoking his cigarette. “You don’t think I could get that information from you if I really wanted it?”

The implication was obvious and Klink laughed. After suffering so much at the hands of General Adler, torture no longer held any real terror for him. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to resist Schmidt’s particular technique for long, but he’d be damned if he made it easy for the swine! “You can do what you like to me, but I won’t tell you their names.”

This time, Schmidt’s reaction surprised Klink: he grinned, amused. “Ah. So, you’ve told more than one person, and these people are close enough to you that you’d rather take the chance of being tortured than name them.” He casually flicked ash into the ash tray. “Sit down, Colonel.”

Klink did so more because he’d lost the will to support himself rather than because he’d been told to. The irony of betraying the same people he’d been trying to protect _while_ trying to protect them was not lost on him, but he wasn’t concerned with irony at the moment. Now he’d done it. He was going to get someone killed. He was going to get everyone killed. He should have known better than to ever think he was equipped to deal with men like these!

The amusement on Schmidt’s face faded away, leaving weariness in its wake. “Calm down,” he ordered, something approaching kindness coloring his tone. “Consider it more a friendly warning than a threat. I’m confident I can convince my superiors that you’re not worth the bother of silencing _as long as_ you agree not to draw undue attention to yourself.” 

Klink could only stare at Schmidt in disbelief. After the threats and the posturing, Schmidt was just going to let him go? Had this all been a game for Schmidt? Or was there something he wanted in return? His chest felt tight. “What? I don’t understand.”

Schmidt’s brow furrowed in what looked like genuine puzzlement. “Promise to keep silent about this, and I’ll make certain you’re left alone.” He snubbed out his second cigarette. “If you could impress the need for silence on those you told, so much the better.”

This all sounded much too good to be true, but Klink had no choice but to accept Schmidt’s offer. “I won’t make any trouble,” he promised.

While the promise had sounded overly earnest to his own ears, Schmidt didn’t seem to mind. “Excellent.” His lips turned up into a brief, dangerous smile. “That makes my day so much easier.”

An involuntary shudder went through Klink at the silent reminder that he was not actually safe yet. He didn’t know Colonel Schmidt or what he was capable of or even what he was ultimately planning to do. He suddenly wondered what Schmidt would have done had he continued to believe Klink had been a willing collaborator with Adler. Immediately, several answers came to mind, and he regretted the idle thought. It probably would be best to say and do as little as possible: his safety was in a very precarious state. 

Trying not to annoy or anger the Gestapo officer was the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, Klink was going to do something stupid instead. There was something he needed to know, and Schmidt was the only one he could trust to ask. It had taken Klink a long while to make the connection, but now he’d finally figured it out: Colonel Schmidt had already known what Adler was capable of _before_ Klink had admitted anything. That left Klink with a very serious question. 

Asking that question was a risk. Perhaps Schmidt wouldn’t react well to Klink’s curiosity. Maybe he’d decide that Klink was a threat for merely _asking_ the question. Even fearing that, if Klink ever wanted an explanation about this thing, this seemed to be his last chance to get one. After what he’d been put through, he was entitled to _this_ much. He took a deep breath to settle himself, finding only marginal success. “I-I was wondering if you could answer a question for me.”

“A question?” Schmidt’s tone offered no clues as to how he felt about the request. He leaned back in his chair and his eyes searched Klink’s own in a way that made Klink deeply uncomfortable. “What is it?”

Klink forced himself to hold that gaze. “I wanted to know why...” he trailed off, momentarily unsure how to phrase the question. “I mean, you seem to know all about what General Adler’s been doing. So, why—?”

“Why was he free to do as he pleased?” Schmidt interrupted. At Klink’s silent nod, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked older than his years. “Suffice to say, certain people were paid to look the other way, and these same people were happy enough to do so to avoid a scandal.” A disgusted sneer twisted his lips. “Principles sacrificed for the sake of expediency and personal gain.”

“Oh.” Klink hadn’t tried to guess what Schmidt would tell him, but the answer he’d received had been less than satisfying. While there was a definite disappointment that his suffering had been the result of nothing more than simple bribery, the anger he felt towards those nameless men Schmidt had described was much stronger. But mixed with the anger was sense of wounded shock as he realized what Schmidt’s answer truly meant.

Adler had been _allowed_ to do what he’d done. Someone in authority—multiple someones!—had known what Adler was doing yet had allowed him to continue doing it. Those men had been paid not to interfere. Those men had gotten the money, while Klink, Richter, and whoever else Adler had abused had paid the price. Those men had sold them, had sold _him_ to Adler as though Klink had really been the toy Adler had called him.

He thought he might vomit. 

“Look, Colonel,” Schmidt said, dragging Klink’s attention back to him, “I’m not going to try justifying any of this because I can’t. The fact of the matter is General Adler was handled badly, and there’s no excuse for that, but I need you to understand something.” 

He bowed his head for a moment. “What we’re doing in Berlin is very important for this country and for the war. Bringing those men to justice now would be too disruptive.” His smile was sardonic. “Our image would suffer as well: if the Secret Police cannot even police themselves, what good are they?”

If Schmidt had meant any of this to make him feel better, he’d failed. Klink could accept the reasoning that, when compared to winning or losing a war, what he’d gone through wasn’t so earth-shattering: he was only a tiny, insignificant part of a larger, much more important whole. At least, his rational side could accept that. Mostly, he felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. As had been the case when Adler had been still alive, there simply was no way for him to win. 

He would just have to be satisfied that the man who’d hurt him the most directly had received his punishment. Perhaps the other men who’d made his torment possible would receive theirs in Hell.

“It’s not worth much coming from me,” Schmidt continued, a measure of what sounded like genuine regret in his voice, “but I’m sorry this happened. It’s not fair to you.”

Klink’s mouth dropped open for a moment. He struggled to pull himself together enough to respond. While Schmidt was right, his apology didn’t mean much since he wasn’t responsible for what had happened, it had been enough to pull Klink up from the defeated whirlpool he’d been sinking into. “You’re right: it isn’t,” he agreed when he was finally able to speak. But, fair or not, there was no changing the past, and there was only one thing he could do to secure his future. A sigh escaped him, and he sagged against the back of the chair. “I won’t make any trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Schmidt’s eyes narrowed in thought. “If anyone asks you about last night, contact General Burkhalter.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “As far as I’m concerned, this investigation is over.”

“I see,” Klink said. Considering how important keeping Adler’s activities hidden seemed to be, it was hardly surprising that his death would receive little official attention. Would it all be classified? Or would Schmidt simple cite lack of evidence? Klink was curious but not curious enough to ask. His eyes felt heavy, and it was becoming a struggle to keep them open. He felt the yawn coming but was unable to hide it in time. 

Schmidt seemed amused. “Unless you have any more questions for me, I think we’re finished here.” 

It seemed that this latest interrogation was over. Klink hid another yawn behind his hand. The sudden knock on the door was unexpected, but he only noted it in a distracted sort of way. He had the feeling that he ought to be concerned.

Schmidt didn’t look concerned: he looked annoyed as he stood. “What now?” His long-legged stride made short the distance to the door. After unlocking the lock, he swung the door open. 

Since Schmidt was standing in the way, Klink couldn’t see who was standing there, but the man’s voice was unmistakeable. “Colonel Schmidt,” Hochstetter said, his tone poorly hiding his anger, “what’s this I hear about you releasing my prisoners?”

A soft laugh from Schmidt. “There was no need to keep holding them. Going to you would have been merely a formality.” He shrugged. “How is the evidence transfer going? I was thinking of borrowing one of the trucks you have here. I have a feeling General Adler will be poor company.”

There was a moment of silence. “That can be arranged,” Hochstetter said stiffly. “However, Colonel, I had planned to question the Sergeant—”

“And _I_ told you,” Schmidt interrupted, his soft tone abruptly cutting, “that I was the one asking the questions: I have no questions for the man. That means, _you_ have no questions either.”

Hochstetter sputtered. 

“I’ve decided,” Schmidt continued, as though Hochstetter had remained silent, “that I would like to borrow one of your trucks after all. Make certain everything is transferred from my car to there.” A pause. “Put a rush on it. I’m anxious to return to Berlin with my findings.”

“Yes, sir.” The words were clipped. The foot steps that walked away were loud.

Schmidt saluted. Then he turned to face Klink. “Come on, Colonel. I’m sure you’re anxious to return to Stalag 13.”

Klink nodded distractedly, something about the words tugging at his brain. Return to Stalag 13. Return. Return. Oh. Right. “I need a telephone.” At Schmidt’s questioning look, he explained that he had no way of returning to Stalag 13: no car and no confidence in his current ability to drive one. 

“That won’t be a problem,” Schmidt assured him. “There’s a Sergeant,” he frowned slightly, “Schultz waiting to take you and your prisoner back to Stalag 13.”

Either General Burkhalter had arranged transportation or Schultz had become psychic again. While both of these sounded fairly unlikely, the idea that Hochstetter had made the arrangements seemed even _less_ likely. Of course, as Schultz was here to take him and Corporal Newkirk away from this place, Klink didn’t really care _why_ he was here. 

“Are you ready? I can at least take you back upstairs.”

Blinking, Klink realized he’d been keeping Schmidt waiting. “Oh, yes. I’m ready,” he said hurriedly, wasting no time getting to his own feet. The sudden change in elevation made him momentarily dizzy, but a hand on the table was enough to keep him balanced. 

“Colonel?” Schmidt sounded concerned.

Whether or not the Gestapo officer was actually concerned was beyond Klink’s knowing and of little importance besides. Klink forced himself to smile. “I’m fine.” He took his coat off the back of the chair and put it on. It was too heavy to wear for any length of time inside, but he was just as happy to have another layer. With any luck, he’d be able to leave soon—especially since he had a ride waiting for him.

He followed Schmidt out of the room, his eyes never straying from Schmidt’s back. He had very little interest in his surroundings, and it was taking a fair amount of effort just to keep moving now. He just hoped that he could keep moving long enough to make it to their destination.

* * *

It soon become apparent that Schmidt did not actually know his way around the building or, if he knew that, he didn’t actually have any idea where Schultz was. Still, Schmidt was making better progress than Klink would have: the Colonel was unafraid to interrupt the activities of busy, sour-faced people to get information. Not that said information was particularly helpful. Most had no idea what Schmidt was talking about. 

At last, Schmidt spoke to a Lieutenant who told them that the Sergeant they were looking for had opted to wait out front, opting to suffer the cold rather than risk a run in with Major Hochstetter. Despite how mentally and physically exhausted Klink felt, he’d had to smile when he saw Schultz impatiently standing in front of a staff car. 

As soon as the Sergeant noticed him, he came to attention. His salute was accompanied by a relieved grin. “Kommandant.”

Klink returned them both. Then he remembered something important and felt annoyed with himself for forgetting. He turned to Schmidt, who seemed entertained by the reunion. “Where is Corporal Newkirk?”

“I believe he’s already been placed into your subordinate’s custody. Is that not so, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” Schultz addressed his next words to Klink. “He’s in the back with Corporal Langenscheidt.”

While a part of Klink wondered why Schultz had brought Langenscheidt along, most of him was simply relieved by the seating arrangements. He and the prisoner had come to an understanding of sorts the night before, but that didn’t mean that Klink would feel particularly comfortable sitting shoulder to shoulder with the man. 

“Well,” Schmidt said, drawing Klink’s attention back to him, “thanks to you, my day has been made very complicated,” then he smiled, “but very interesting. Good day, Colonel.”

Klink watched him away. He thought he could have said the same of the Gestapo Colonel, although perhaps ‘informative’ would have been more appropriate than ‘interesting’. Schmidt had treated him well, all things considered, but Klink was still glad to see the back of him. 

“Are you ready to leave, Kommandant?”

Turning his attention back to Schultz, Klink nodded. “Yes. More than ready.”

Schultz acknowledged the words with the nod and opened the car door.

Within moments, Klink was inside and the car was moving. As the Gestapo headquarters was left behind, he felt himself slump into the seat. His eyes felt heavy, and he didn’t fight to keep them open. 

* * *

Klink awoke to the sound of a familiar voice saying something to him. When he opened his eyes, he was momentarily surprised to find himself sitting in a car before remembering why he was there. He turned to look at Schultz who was looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“We’re back at camp, Kommandant,” Schultz said. 

Pulling himself up to sit up straight, he turned his gaze out his window. It was as Schultz had said: they were back at Stalag 13. About a foot of snow littered the grounds. Considering the fact that it was after noon, this was unusual. “No one has cleared away the snow,” he said, voicing his thoughts. 

Clearly, Schultz had taken the observation as some kind of complaint for he hastened to defend himself: “I’m sorry, Kommandant, but I didn’t want to waste any time going out to find you.”

Slowly, Klink turned back to face the guard. “You went looking for me?” So, Burkhalter _hadn’t_ arranged this! While that explained the General’s apparently uncharacteristic altruism, the new question it raised made Klink far more nervous. “How did you know where to look?”

“You...” Schultz trailed off, looking very uncertain as he glanced at the backseat. He rallied. “You gave me directions before you left.”

“I … I did?” For a second, Klink believed him—his mind hadn’t been working right for days, so it was quite possible for him to have done such a thing and forgot. Then he remembered that it was impossible. Schultz was lying to him! _Why_? “That’s impossible.”

“You gave me directions,” Schultz repeated, a sort of edge entering his voice. That was worrisome enough for Klink’s nerves without the wink that came afterwards. 

Klink suddenly found himself wishing that he was not in an enclosed space with this man. His hand felt for the door handle. 

Schultz twisted around to face the back seat. When he spoke, his voice still had an edge. “Corporal, take the prisoner back to his barracks and tell the guards to get the prisoners organized to clear the roads.”

And suddenly, everything made sense. Klink abandoned his blind search for the door handle and waited for Corporals Langenscheidt and Newkirk to leave the car. He’d honestly forgotten that he and Schultz weren’t alone and waited until they were before he spoke. “I understand why you lied now,” he said evenly, “but now I want you to tell me the truth, Sergeant.” He was proud he was able to make himself sound so authoritative. 

“Colonel Hogan told me where to find you,” Schultz admitted, his uncomfortable tone matching the discomfort on his face. “When you didn’t return by morning, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

All at once, Klink felt very stupid and quite annoyed with himself: he’d already known the answer to the question he’d asked. He’d heard Hogan say _himself_ that he was going to give Schultz directions! Of course, that still left the question of how the American had managed to find out where Adler had planned to go in the first place. But asking that question of Schultz would get him nowhere. “And you went to Grafweg with Langenscheidt?”

“Yes, sir.” Schultz went on to explain how he and the Corporal had been detained by the Gestapo, and that it had been _Schultz’s_ quick thinking that had gotten the word to General Burkhalter that anything had happened in the first place. 

Klink could scarcely believe it. Truly, he’d been underestimating this man! _But then_ , he thought with a fair measure of self-loathing, _you can’t claim you’ve been paying very much attention to anything_. Rather than add anything new to the list of things he was now noticing, it might be easier to come up with a list of the things he _had_ noticed. 

But that was in the past! Klink was going to start paying attention.

“Sir?”

He wasn’t off to a good start. Shaking his head, Klink smiled ruefully. “That was good thinking, Schultz.”

The Sergeant colored at the rare praise. “I was lucky. It could have gone badly.” He hesitated. “Corporal Langenscheidt knows what General Adler wanted to do to Corporal Newkirk.” No doubt seeing Klink’s shock, he went on. “He doesn’t know about what General Adler did to you—I didn’t think he needed to know _that_ , but he needed to know why you and General Adler were out alone with a prisoner.” When Klink remained silent, unable to speak, he continued, his worry plain. “The prisoner should not have been taken out of camp to be questioned, and there should have been another guard with you. Langenscheidt knew that. So, I had to tell him _something_ , and, and I am not clever enough to come up with a convincing lie on the spot!”

“And the Corporal had no qualms about the fact his commander was willing to, to hand over a prisoner to be _abused_? Klink demanded angrily. While he was glad that he didn’t have to add yet another person to the list of people who knew what Adler had done to him, the idea that the Corporal thought Klink would allow something so horrible to befall one of his charges was arguably more upsetting.

Schultz raised his hands. “He doesn’t think that at all. I told him that Colonel Hogan had told you to go along with this—that was enough to convince him that you _weren’t_ that sort of man.”

It was something. Corporal Langenscheidt had still been told too much, but there wasn’t anything Klink could do about that now. He closed his eyes, too tired to maintain any emotion more potent than annoyance. “All right. Are there any _other_ surprises waiting for me?”

“No, sir,” came the almost timid reply. 

“Then let me out of the car.” Klink heard the sound of the car door opening then Schultz getting out and opened his eyes. He waited for Schultz to open the passenger side door before getting out of the car himself. It was cold.

“Where is General Adler?”

“He’s dead, Sergeant,” Klink said, making no effort to hide how relieved, how happy, this fact made him. 

Schultz nodded, not looking particularly surprised. “Corporal Langenscheidt thought he might be.” Then he smiled. “It’s over, Kommandant.”

“Of course it is.” Klink wondered if Schultz noticed his own smile becoming false. “Of course it is.” He just wished, as the two of them made their way to the office building, that he really believed it.

When they entered the building, Fraulein Hilda came around her desk. She stopped short; her face showing both relief and concern. “Colonel, are you all right?” 

Klink pulled his lips back into what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m fine.” He knew it was a lie, but he didn’t know how to explain how he really felt at that moment. “But I’m very tired. I don’t want to see anyone until tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Of course, sir.” Then her face fell, and she shook her head. “General Burkhalter called at 9:30; he told me that he wanted you to call him as soon as you came back.”

Seeing as the General had called before seeing Klink face to face, Klink was certain that there was nothing more Burkhalter needed to hear from him today. “I’ve already spoken with him. If he does call again, let me know.”

“I will.” She hesitated for a moment, as though she had more to say, before she smiled. “Welcome back.”

Klink thanked her, then turned his attention to Schultz. “You can bring me dinner around the usual time, but don’t wake me if I’m sleeping. You can just leave the food and go.” He’d eaten very little of the breakfast that the Gestapo had provided, and he did actually feel hungry now that he was back at camp, but he was afraid that he would pass out any minute now. He’d rather be in bed when that happened, preferably without witnesses. 

Schultz saluted. “Yessir!”

Klink returned it before turning his back on his subordinate and his secretary. He passed through his office. His living room. His bedroom. The bed was made, which told him that the maid had come by while he’d been gone. He was glad he’d burned the sheets. He took off his coat, jacket and boots but didn’t bother with the rest. Sleep claimed him before his head hit the pillow.


	72. Clearing Air

Newkirk’s ‘welcome home’ didn’t last too long. A brief clap on the shoulder, a few ‘welcome back’s, and the gift of soup before Langenscheidt stepped in to say that the snow needed to be cleared from the grounds and the prisoners would be the ones to do it. Newkirk wasn’t looking forward to a bout of physical labor, but he thought he’d manage anyway. Although, it _was_ disappointing not to get a chance to eat his soup while it was warm.

As if in answer to this thought, Colonel Hogan spoke up. “I think we’ll manage without Corporal Newkirk.” He leaned in closer to the guard. “After the night he’s had, I think he deserves some rest.” 

Langenscheidt face lost some of its color. “ _Ja, ja, natürlich_. He can stay.” 

Then the Colonel got even closer, his whisper just out of Newkirk’s hearing, and gestured towards Kinch.

There was a moment of indecision this time before Langenscheidt nodded. “Yes, Sergeant Kinchole can stay, too.” Then he straightened up, all business again. “The rest of you, come with me. I will unlock the tool shed.”

Within a minute, the barracks were cleared, leaving Newkirk and Kinch behind. 

Newkirk glanced at Kinch before sitting down at the table in front of the soup LeBeau had left him. He knew why Kinch was still here: to keep an eye on him. It was somewhat insulting. He wasn’t some child or invalid that needed looking after. The only question was did he speak up now or wait for Kinch to say so himself. He broke the crust on top of the bowl with the spoon, then took a bite.

Kinch sat down across from him. “How’s the soup?”

It was an excellent onion soup—especially considering what LeBeau had to work with. He could only imagine what the Frenchman could do when he didn’t have to work with scraps. “Not bad,” he said at last, deciding that, for the moment, he’d play along. “It’s not too French.” 

Laughter. “Don’t let LeBeau hear you say that!”

“Why not? He always turns such a lovely shade of red,” Newkirk quipped. 

“He does at that,” Kinch agreed. Then the levity in his expression faded away, leaving something troubled behind.

Newkirk pretended he didn’t notice as he continued eating. He had a fair idea of what would be happening before too long: an awkward conversation, and he was just as happy to put off for as long as Kinch would let him. It appeared that the Sergeant was at least willing to allow him to finish his meal in peace; a fact for which Newkirk was grateful. The conversation he envisioned wouldn’t have done much for his appetite. 

Although he’d been given breakfast at the Gestapo headquarters, it had been a paltry thing barely deserving the name of breakfast, and it had been hours ago. As such, the soup did not last long. He pushed the empty bowl away from him before pulling a deck of cards out of his pocket. The well-worn cards shuffled easily. “Poker?”

A brief smile. “Only if you promise not to cheat.”

Newkirk scoffed with mock wounded pride. “Would I do that to you?”

“Yes.”

Kinch was probably right at that. Still, to be fair, Newkirk was hard-pressed _not_ to cheat at this point: all of the cards were so clearly marked from the wear they’d received Newkirk could recognize most of them now at a glance. He smiled. “I’ll make sure you win some of the time.”

The American shook his head tolerantly. “What are we playing for?”

Poker wasn’t poker without something to bet. Newkirk considered the question before shrugging. “I think LeBeau’s got some dried beans we could use to keep score.” He smiled his wicked smile. “Winner gets five cigarettes out of the loser’s next care package.”

“One,” Kinch returned flatly.

Newkirk had expected that: while Kinch didn’t smoke them religiously like some, cigarettes were one of the closest things they had to actual currency around here—one didn’t squander them lightly. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying,” he said easily. “Two.”

Kinch pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right, two. Deal me in, Peter.”

After giving the cards a final shuffle, Newkirk dealt them. In deference to Kinch’s wishes, he hadn’t taken the time to control what either of them got. Kinch had ended up with the 2, 3, and 5 of diamonds, the Queen of spades, and what was either the Ace of clubs or the 10 of hearts. He probably could have figured out which card it was with a little more study, but he was trying to play in good faith.

The first hand of play was conducted in companionable silence, interrupted only with bets, raises, and calls. Newkirk had won the first hand along with a sizable pile of beans. He dealt out a new hand, starting to wonder if he’d misjudged the Colonel’s motive for leaving Kinch behind with him. He should have known better.

Kinch had just discarded the 5 of spades for the Queen of hearts when he said, “Colonel Hogan told me you see where I’m coming from now.” The words were casual but there was an undercurrent of sadness in them.

Strange. “S’right.” 

“What made you change your mind?”

Newkirk kept his eyes on his cards, thinking of what to discard as he thought of his answer. After all the trouble he’d given Kinch over this Klink business, the Sergeant was owed an honest answer. The problem was he wasn’t certain how to explain his change of heart without going into unnecessary detail. “Last night made me realize things were more complicated than I thought.” He exchanged the Jack of clubs for one of diamonds. 

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

The sorrow in Kinch’s voice was the last thing Newkirk expected. He felt himself frown as he looked up from his cards. “Don’t know what _you’ve_ got to feel sorry about. I’m the one who’s been spouting a lot of rubbish this week.”

Real anger bloomed on Kinch’s face. “That doesn’t mean I wanted _this_ to happen to you!” His shoulders slumped as the anger drained out of him, leaving sadness in its wake. “Whatever happened out there last night, you didn’t deserve it.”

Newkirk had not slept well the night before, so he was not as sharp as he usually was. Which was why it took a moment to realize was Kinch was getting at. His eyes went wide as the implication finally became clear. “It wasn’t like that.” It would be dishonest to say that Adler’s actions last night hadn’t had anything to do with his change of heart, but Kinch was jumping to entirely the wrong conclusion on this thing! He set down his cards and saw Kinch do the same. “That’s not, that’s not what happened.”

“But, Colonel Hogan told me—”

“Right,” Newkirk interrupted, wishing now that he hadn’t waited for Kinch to say something first: if he’d taken the initiative, he could have told this story his way without being put on the defensive like this. “Right. Yes, the fairy got fresh with me, but that’s not...” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking the time to collect his thoughts. “The Kommandant asked him to stop before he had a chance to do much.” 

Kinch looked surprised but didn’t give voice to it.

That suited Newkirk fine, He didn’t want to answer a lot of questions—he just wanted to get this over with. “That’s what did it. That’s what changed my mind. He stood up for me when he didn’t have to. I figured I owed believing him when he said he didn’t want what Adler did to him either.” Immediately, he knew he’d said too much. “That’s all there is to it, really,” he finished with a nonchalant shrug, hoping that Kinch wouldn’t notice his unintended candor.

Unfortunately, Kinch had been listening carefully enough to catch Newkirk’s mistake. “He spoke to you about Adler? When did _that_ happen?”

Newkirk didn’t blame Kinch for the disbelief in his voice: Newkirk wouldn’t have believed Klink had chosen him as a confidant either. Of course, now he’d have to explain. _Damn me and my bloody big mouth!_ He shook his head. The damage was done, and there was nothing else for it. Kinch had him dead to rights. “After the ambush, when we were alone in the car. Asked me why I volunteered. Asked me if I did it for the Colonel.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Newkirk said, keeping his tone carefully bland.

Once Kinch gave up waiting for Newkirk to answer the unasked question, he asked a different one. “What did you say to him, then?”

Shame and guilt pooled in Newkirk’s gut. “Oh,” he said flippantly, “I called him a coward, said he was a fruit, accused him of being Adler’s lover.” He nodded, creasing his brow in mock consternation, as though what he planned to say next was somehow shocking to him. “It was that last one that _really_ got him spitting tacks.”

Kinch seemed nonplussed by the confession.

Newkirk took advantage of the shock to continue his explanation uninterrupted. “He said he didn’t ask for or want that poof k-touching him anymore than I did.” He shrugged, distancing himself from the memory of Adler’s mouth. “The Kommandant did me a good turn, so I’m taking him at his word. He said he wasn’t playing hard to get, so he wasn’t playing hard to get.” He allowed some of the guilt he felt to show through the unconcerned facade. “I’ve been a right tit lately.”

Kinch smiled kindly. “Yes, but you’re our tit.” He grimaced and closed his eyes momentarily. “That sounded better in my head.” Then his expression became serious. “If you ever need to talk, Peter, I’m here for you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Newkirk assured him as he picked up his cards. The offer was expected and kind, but not something he planned on taking up any time soon. The sooner he was able to put all of this behind him, the better. At least Kinch wasn’t the sort to say ‘I told you so.’ That would help. “I think it’s your turn.”

If Kinch minded the unsubtle change of subject, he hid it well. “I think you’re right.”


	73. A Ninth Hour Decision

Schultz was not looking forward to the conversation that he was going to have with Hilda now that Colonel Klink had retired to his quarters. He hadn’t slept well the night before and dealing with the Gestapo on an empty stomach had not improved matters. There was also the thing in his pocket to be dealt with later. All he wanted for now was something to eat and a place to sit down: neither were available in Hilda’s office. 

“He looks terrible,” Hilda commented a moment after the he in question had closed the door to his office behind him. She leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms as she leveled her gaze at Schultz. “So, what’s going on now? You said you’d explain.”

Unfortunately, Schultz could tell already that this would be a long conversation. If he thought he could squeeze himself behind Hilda’s desk to use her chair, he would have tried it. “I need a more specific question, Fraulein,” he said, doing his best not to sound curt. 

Judging by the narrowing of Hilda’s eyes, he’d failed. “I want to know what’s going on now,” she repeated. “Why did the Kommandant leave camp last night?”

“You remember the escape report you filled out yesterday for Corporal Newkirk, so Kommandant would have an excuse to take him out of camp?”

Hilda’s widening eyes was his answer. “Oh!” She looked a little sheepish. “I feel like an idiot. So, the Colonel took Newkirk out last night?”

“Along with General Adler,” Schultz added.

She uncrossed her arms so she could clasp her hands together. “Did it work then? Did Adler fly away?”

 _Only if the damned get wings_ , he thought but didn’t say. Even the death of someone as evil as Adler should not be treated as a joke. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “I don’t know if what happened last night was what was supposed to happen.” Schultz had enough time to realize he hadn’t chosen his words very well but not enough time to do anything about his mistake.

“And what was _supposed_ to happen?”

He raised his hands out in front of him as though he could push away her suspicion. “All I know is that Colonel Hogan told Colonel Klink to take Corporal Newkirk out of camp with General Adler, and that this would _somehow_ end with Adler ‘flying away’—whatever _that_ actually meant!” About halfway through he’d realized his explanation had become a diatribe, but he was tired of being subtly (and not so subtly) accused of lying when he was doing no such thing.

Although momentarily stunned by the outburst, Hilda recovered quickly. There was an apology in her tone when she spoke again. “What _did_ happen then?”

“I don’t know,” Schultz said because he didn’t. “The Big Shot only told me that General Adler is dead.”

“Good.” From the look of pleasure on her face, it was clear that the Fraulein did not share Schultz’s feeling about the solemnity of even a death of someone like Adler. Abruptly, her schadenfreude was tempered by a sort of worried fear. “Did … did Colonel Klink kill him?”

Schultz shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was in Gestapo custody this morning: if they’d thought he’d had anything to do with it, I don’t think they would have let him leave.” He attempted a smile. “I think the Colonel’s Gestapo troubles are over with.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hilda said darkly. “The Gestapo have done enough to that poor man.” Her shoulders were tight with anger. “I wonder if _Berlin_ knows what General Adler was.”

Was she referring to the fact that Adler had been a homosexual or the fact he’d been a sexual blackmailer? Whichever the case, Schultz doubted Berlin knew. For the latter, the Gestapo (in his experience) preferred to abuse their authority under the guise of upholding the law somehow—Adler’s blackmail could not be explained away in that manner. As for the former, well, the Gestapo could be trusted to at least follow the rules they came up with for themselves: the Gestapo cared for homosexuals about as much as the rest of the armed forces did. “I doubt it, Fraulein.”

She nodded in a somewhat distracted way, as though she were thinking about something more interesting than his answer to the question she’d just asked. “Maybe things will go back to normal around here.” She didn’t sound like she quite believed this herself.

While Schultz wished he didn’t share her pessimism, he had to tacitly admit that he did. He’d seen the terror in his commander’s eyes in the car as the man blindly tried to open the car door to escape his subordinate. There was no mistaking how completely Schultz had lost the Colonel’s trust and how obvious it was that he hadn’t regained that trust. He wondered if he ever would. 

Still! It really was too soon to tell. After all, General Adler hadn’t even been dead for a whole day yet—maybe the Kommandant would be in better spirits when he woke up. Maybe the Big Shot would be back to his old, normal self again.

How much Schultz wished he believed that!

“Are _you_ all right?”

Schultz blinked and returned his attention to Hilda who was scrutinizing him with concern. “I’m fine—I’m just a little tired,” he assured her, hoping that that would be enough to convince her. 

It wasn’t.

“You don’t _look_ fine,” she stated flatly, crossing her arms once more. “What’s happening _now_ that you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing!” he protested, more out of habit than anything else. Hilda was either more perceptive than he’d thought or recent events had made her paranoid. Either way, he was going to have to tell her something now or else she’d never let him be. Luckily, as he didn’t want to share what was actually causing his distress, there was one thing she didn’t know which he didn’t mind telling. Perhaps she’d even think it was good news, considering how badly she’d felt about cutting Langenscheidt out of their loop yesterday.

“I told Langenscheidt about Adler. When I took him with me to find the Kommandant.”

Hilda blinked. “But, I thought you said we couldn’t—”

“The boy isn’t stupid,” Schultz interrupted, not needing Hilda to remind him of what he’d said. “He knew the Kommandant should never have taken a prisoner out of camp without a guard—the Kommandant should never have taken a prisoner out of camp at all. He’d had no reason to.” Seeing Hilda nodding along, he continued. “Besides that, there’s nothing _out_ on Grafweg; certainly nothing that would have kept the Colonel out there all night.”

“So, why take Langenscheidt out with you in the first place.” Hilda’s shock had faded away, but it seemed that she hadn’t settled on a way to feel about Schultz’s confession.

“I didn’t know what I’d find when I got there,” Schultz explained patiently. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“What did you tell him, exactly?” she asked, her tone containing a fair amount of trepidation. “Did you tell him about the Colonel? How did he take it?”

So many questions! Schultz allowed himself a sigh. At this rate, he’d never get breakfast. “I didn’t tell him about what General Adler did to the Colonel.” He smiled weakly. “I decided he didn’t need to know that much.” What Hilda would ask next was obvious, so he didn’t wait for her to ask the question before answering it. “I told him about Sergeant Jackson, and he made the connection between what Adler did and what Adler wanted from Corporal Newkirk himself.”

He bowed his head briefly as he recalled the part that he’d been most reluctant to share with the young man. “I also told him that Colonel Hogan was involved in the Kommandant’s choice to go along with Adler leaving camp with a prisoner.”

“What did he think about it?” she asked, anxious now. 

Schultz made no effort to hide how odd he found the question. “He was horrified that Adler would want to do such a thing, of course.” When this answer didn’t seem to comfort her, he voiced his confusion. “What difference does that make now? General Adler is dead.”

Hilda bit her lip. “As you say, Karl isn’t stupid.” She craned her head up to look him in the eyes. “I think he’ll figure out the rest of it eventually—especially if the Colonel doesn’t get better soon.”

It was a fair point and one that Schultz had not considered. While there was nothing he could do about the possibility now, he wasn’t as worried as Hilda seemed to be. “I think we can trust him. Nothing in the way he acted when I told him made me think he’d be unsympathetic.”

“That’s good to hear.” Although some of the worry remained, her expression radiated relief. She went back behind her desk and sat down heavily. “He’d asked me what was going on yesterday,” she said, something sad entering her voice. “All I could tell him was that I couldn’t tell him—it really _is_ hard to keep secrets, isn’t it?”

Which was one of the many reasons Schultz didn’t like to know any secrets. In this case, there was no way of unlearning what he’d learned. At least the burden, the responsibility, of that knowledge wasn’t his alone. “It is,” he agreed, “but necessary.”

Hilda’s expression darkened. “I’m still going to give that American flatterer some harsh words the next time I see him.” She glared at Schultz. “You lied to me, too, Sergeant, but you didn’t look me in the eyes when you did it.”

Schultz wondered how angry Hilda would be with him if she found out what he was hiding from her now. His hand started to stray to his coat pocket, but he was able to call it back to his side. Later. He’d think about that later. “Try not to be so angry, Fraulein,” he besought on Hogan’s behalf. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“And I look forward to hearing them,” Hilda said firmly. She turned her attention to the papers on her desk with a little sigh. “I doubt he’ll be up to doing these today.” She picked up one of the papers, her eyes moving back and forth as she skimmed the document. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?” She didn’t look up as she said this. 

A fact for which Schultz was grateful. “No,” he lied meekly. “You know everything I know now.”

She set the paper down and picked up a pen. “All right. Then I have work to do.” Then she glanced up, her smile friendly. “I’ll see you later, won’t I?”

“Of course.”

As he left the office building, his hand strayed once more to his coat pocket, slipping inside. His finger tips brushed against the rough grip of the Luger before he realized what he’d done. The weapon was heavy in his pocket, but most of its weight was on his conscience. 

Schultz was often left in situations where he didn’t know what to do, but that didn’t mean he was used to them or that he liked them very much. This time, the stakes were extremely high, and he had no idea how to deal with the problem he’d been handed. 

How could he place a weapon back into the hands of a man who, less than a day before, had been planning to use it on himself? True, his commander had told him that he’d changed his mind but, without knowing the reason for the change of heart, it was difficult for Schultz to trust that the Kommandant wouldn’t simply change his mind back again.

Then again, Schultz felt like a thief with the Colonel’s property in his pocket. Yes, he hadn’t taken it from the Big Shot himself, but it was the fact that he’d failed to return it which made him feel like he was doing something wrong. Although Klink had gone straight to bed, Schultz could have left the Luger on his desk for him.

But he hadn’t.

He could go back and do it now.

But he wouldn’t.

He just didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t want to be responsible for making the wrong decision. Even his old stand by of doing nothing wasn’t an option for him: doing nothing would also have its consequences in this case. If he never returned the weapon, eventually, Klink would wonder what had happened to it; he’d call the Gestapo headquarters and find out who they’d entrusted the thing to. 

The Kommandant would think he was a thief, and he wouldn’t be wrong to think so. Not only that, but he’d end up getting his weapon back—exactly what Schultz would be trying to avoid!

But could Schultz risk just giving the Luger back now? Did he want to be responsible for what happened if the Colonel decided to shoot himself after all?

He still hadn’t decided what to do once it was time to go to the mess hall to get the Kommandant’s dinner. As he collected the food that he hoped, but doubted, his commander would actually eat, he felt himself becoming more and more distressed. What if Klink was awake? What is he wasn’t? It wasn’t too late to leave the Luger on Klink’s desk. But how could he risk that? What should he _do_?

Schultz carried the plate out into the open air, feeling trapped under the weight of his dilemma. 

“Schultz!”

The unexpected shout started Schultz badly, but he was able to keep hold of the plate. He turned towards the source of the call and saw Colonel Hogan striding towards him. While Schultz was suspicious of the smile the Senior POW was wearing, he had to admit to being relieved to see him. What Schultz planned on doing to the prisoner was cruel, but the fact of the matter was that Schultz trusted Hogan’s judgment more than his own right now.

Colonel Hogan always knew what to do.


	74. Ends to Be Tied

The snow cleaning job took somewhat longer than Hogan had expected, leaving very little time, once it was finished, for him to locate Sergeant Schultz. While he might have been able to get the information he sought from Langenscheidt, the young man seemed very on edge. As for why the Corporal might be on edge, Hogan had a few ideas. He’d noticed Langenscheidt’s reaction to his suggestion that Newkirk be allowed to remain behind, so it seemed likely that Schultz had told him something. The only questions were what he’d been told and why he’d been told in the first place.

Perhaps Hogan would be able to get that out of Schultz as well.

Luckily, finding Schultz hadn’t taken very long at all. Since it was so close to dinner time, Hogan had decided to try the mess hall first. He’d arrived in time to see the Sergeant come out balancing a plate of food on his hand. As Hogan approached him, he could see that Schultz was tired (which wasn’t unusual) and that he was pensive (which was). It wasn’t the best combination for Hogan’s purposes but he would just have to make do. 

“Schultz!”

The Sergeant started at the hail before offering Hogan a suspicious frown. “Colonel Hogan,” he said, standing still so that Hogan could catch up to him. “You’re not planning any more funny business, are you?”

Hogan had to grin. “Would I do that to you?” Not giving the German a chance to respond, he nodded at the plate Schultz was holding. “It’s a little chilly for a picnic, isn’t it?”

“It’s for the Big Shot,” he said, sighing a bit. “He probably won’t be awake to eat it.”

The expression of concern Hogan adopted was genuine. “Is he all right?”

Startled, perhaps by the earnestness of the question, he refocused his attention on Hogan. “I think so,” he said slowly, uncertainly. “He was very tired when we got back to camp this afternoon. He told me to bring dinner but not to wake him up for it.” He gave Hogan a serious look. “I don’t think he’ll want to see you tonight.”

Hogan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Schultz. I’ll let sleeping beauty get his rest.” He lowered his hands and sidled up to the Sergeant. “What happened, anyway?”

Schultz’s expression was incredulous. “What happened? Don’t _you_ know what happened?” His voice was shrill, and it was all Hogan could do not to wince. Although no one seemed to be paying much attention to them at the moment, that could easily change. 

This wasn’t the best location for this conversation. Hogan took Schultz’s arm, leading him to the office building. “Of course not,” he said lightly. “But you can tell me all about it inside—you wouldn’t want the Iron Eagle’s dinner getting cold, would you?”

“I suppose not,” Schultz agreed dubiously. He allowed Hogan to lead him for a few more steps before overtaking Hogan and leading the way himself. He held the door open at the top of the stairs, worry furrowing his brow. 

And what did Schultz have to be worried about? 

After leading Hogan through Hilda’s empty office into Klink’s equally empty office, Schultz stopped in front of Klink’s desk. He set the plate down before turning to face Hogan. It was clear that the Sergeant was nervous but Hogan didn’t have enough information yet to guess at the reason. However, seeing as Schultz was about to speak, maybe he wouldn’t have to guess.

“General Adler … he’s dead, Hogan.”

There was a question there, even if it hadn’t been asked plainly. Hogan was tempted to pretend that Schultz’s news had been news to him, but he doubted he’d be believed under the circumstances: the guard was dim, but he wasn’t _that_ dim. “Things didn’t go quite as planned,” he admitted. “Apparently, General Adler wasn’t good at making friends—someone else beat us to the punch.”

There was no mistaking the relief on Schultz’s face. “So, you didn’t kill him?”

Hogan shook his head, deciding not to share that he could have accomplished that goal had he wanted to. “I can’t take responsibility for that, no.” He shrugged nonchalantly, putting his hands into his pockets. “Still, I can’t say I’m that torn up about it.” He tilted his head. “What happened this morning? You came back awfully late.”

Schultz made a disgusted noise. “We were all in Gestapo custody.” _As though you didn’t know_ went unsaid but was obviously implied. He explained that the only people on Grafweg by the time they’d arrived had been some Gestapo from town. Langenscheidt and Schultz had been escorted to Gestapo headquarters to be questioned by Major Hochstetter, but Schultz hadn’t so much as seen the man the entire time they were there. The only person to ask questions had been General Burkhalter.

It was at this point in the story where Hogan had to speak up. “General Burkhalter was there?”

The fat Sergeant stood a little straighter, proud as a peacock. “I called him.” He elaborated in a conspiratorial tone: “A couple of the Gestapo had an argument about what to do with us next to the secretary’s desk. We were unrestrained, so I just,” he mimed reaching out for a telephone receiver before putting the imaginary thing to his ear, “and told the General where we all were.” He grinned. “I could hear the General screaming when he called back.” 

Hogan could imagine. “So, when he came, you were allowed to leave?”

Schultz shook his head. “Sort of.” He pursed his lips. “It was strange. After General Burkhalter came down to see Langenscheidt and I, we were just released by some Gestapo Colonel I’d never seen before. He said that waiting for Major Hochstetter would be a waste of time. Then he just placed Corporal Newkirk into my custody.” He hesitated. “He wanted to talk to the Kommandant. He must have done it, because it took a while for the Big Shot to join us outside.”

A new Gestapo officer in town? One that outranked Hochstetter? That could be interesting. Hogan could just imagine what shade of red Hochstetter’s face had turned when he’d found out the Colonel had freed his prisoners. While it was an amusing image, the old adage ‘better the devil you know’ seemed appropriate. Of course, without more to go on, this was just idle speculation. If this Gestapo Colonel had spoken to Klink, maybe Klink would have more light to shed on the subject. Or at least a name to go on.

For the time being, Hogan simply filed what he’d heard away for later consideration. There was another question he wanted an answer to, and now seemed to be a good time to ask: Schultz was being very chatty. “What did you tell Corporal Langenscheidt?”

Schultz tensed, nervous all over again. “I had to tell him _something_. He knew the Kommandant should never have left camp the way he did. He also knew there was nothing at the end of the road we were driving down.” 

Fair points, but not the answer to his question. “What did you tell him?” he asked again, careful not to make his tone demanding or impatient. 

His efforts were rewarded as Schultz slumped with resignation. “I told him that General Adler blackmailed the Kommandant into handing over a prisoner to, ah,” his large face went red, “well, you know.” 

This much wasn’t exactly good news already, but Hogan knew that there was more: Schultz looked guilty. “He must have been pretty surprised to hear that. How’d he take it?”

The Sergeant looked almost insulted. “He wasn’t happy about it, Hogan.” Nervous again. “I—I told him that _you_ had told the Big Shot to pick Newkirk.” Nervousness turned to desperation. “I didn’t want him to think that our Colonel was the sort of man who would—”

Hogan cut off Schultz’s explanation with a gentle smile. “I understand, Schultz.” And he did. Although he would have liked it better if Schultz had been a little less honest, Langenscheidt was basically a Schultz-in-training: Hogan didn’t anticipate any problems from that corner. “You didn’t tell him I’m the one who gave you the directions, too, did you?”

This time, Schultz definitely was insulted. “Of course not!”

Laughing, Hogan clapped the other man on the shoulder. “That’s my Schultz.” He stepped back and turned away from the sputtering man. “I should leave—I wouldn’t want to be out after curfew.”

“Wait!”

Hogan turned back in time to see Schultz pull something out of his pocket. A gun. A Luger, in fact.

Just as his mind was making the connection, Schultz confirmed it. “It’s the Kommandant’s. The Gestapo gave it to me when they released us.” He stared down at the gun in his hand. “I don’t know if I should give it back to the Kommandant or not.”

Considering the fact that the man in question had been suicidal fairly recently, this was not an unreasonable dilemma to have. On the other hand, with Adler gone, there was no longer the threat of Berlin or the threat to his prisoners hanging over his head. It should be safe enough.

“Do you know why Klink was going to kill himself?”

Schultz blinked. Then he shook his head slowly. “I didn’t ask.”

“I did,” Hogan said, “and there’s nothing to worry about now.”

For a moment, Hogan was sure Schultz was going to ask him the reason. Then the Sergeant shook his head again. “I will trust your judgment on this,” he said solemnly as he set the weapon on the desk. He didn’t say ‘I hope you’re right’ or ‘It’s on your head if you’re wrong about this’, but he would have been well within his rights to do so. As it was, he merely sighed and picked up the plate. “I should bring the Big Shot his dinner.”

Hogan watched him leave the room and waited until the door had shut behind him before picking up the Luger. He ejected the magazine and quickly emptied its contents into his pocket. Once that was accomplished, he returned the weapon to its place. While he’d meant what he’d told Schultz, he hadn’t made it as far as he had by taking unnecessary risks.

* * *

The first thing Hogan had to deal with once he returned to the Barracks was an angry London on the radio. Apparently, they’d wanted Adler alive more than Hogan had guessed, and they were displeased that Hogan had allowed their prize to be ‘spilled’. While he would understood their being disappointed, there seemed be more to it than simply that. What information could Adler have shared that would make his loss such a detriment? How important could one Gestapo general be?

As London continued to berate him for his carelessness in letting Adler die, Hogan felt his own anger grow. London hadn’t been on the level with him about Adler from the beginning. He wanted to demand answers, to demand to know why London hadn’t warned him about Adler. Yes, loose lips sunk ships, but who exactly had they been protecting by keeping that information mum? Maybe they’d liked to know what they’d allowed to happen to Sergeant Jackson and Corporal Nowak and God knew who else. 

Although, as far as he knew, worse had happened to Klink, Hogan couldn’t quite lay the blame for _that_ at London’s feet. Even if London had been straight with him from the start, that Adler would suddenly change his tactics so completely would have caught him flat-footed anyway. Colonel Klink was neither a prisoner nor a young guard.

Once London was satisfied that their subordinate had been sufficiently cowed, they ordered him to look into the matter of who had executed Adler. It had seemed odd that they would pick that word when they didn’t know that he’d been executed—being executed was not necessarily the same thing as being murdered—, but he’d figured they were being dramatic as they were wont to be. He agreed to investigate the Adler incident personally; he would have anyway. A mystery this fascinating and this potentially dangerous couldn’t go unsolved. 

The fact that someone had been lying in wait to murder Adler was strangest part of the whole thing. While it was possible that they’d had some other motive for being out there besides Adler’s death, it didn’t seem likely. Yes, Adler had certainly been loathsome and, yes, the Gestapo could be pretty casual about shooting people (assuming that Adler’s killers had been Gestapo at all and not just another underground group working at cross purposes), but neither explanation was enough to justify the amount of violence that had been used. One shot to the head was professional; two were being thorough; three were overkill.

Security wise, Hogan’s biggest concern was not why Adler had been killed or if killing Adler had been the ultimate goal. His biggest concern was _how_ they’d known Adler would show up on that road at all. How could they have known that _anyone_ would show up? The road was hardly well-used. Had there been a security leak? The only people he’d given the directions to before Adler’s death had been the Simeons. But, if the Simeons had leaked it, what could they have hoped to gain? And that led back to why had Adler been killed in the first place—was there some reason why someone wouldn’t want Adler taken to London alive?

These were not new thoughts, and Hogan didn’t dwell on or share them. When he actually had something besides questions, he’d let London know. Tomorrow was the earliest he could start collecting that information, assuming that Klink had been able to understand Adler’s garbled speech and that Adler had said something important before he’d been shot in the head. If not, he’d have to grill the Simeons and hope they had something worthwhile to tell him.

Once London broke the connection, Hogan set down the headset and switched the radio off. As he rubbed his aching ear, he found himself wondering once again about London’s conduct in this Adler mess. As far as he could see, there were only two main questions. One, why had London not told him the truth about Adler to begin with? And two, why had London wanted Adler alive so badly? If he could get the answers to those, he was sure, he’d understand everything. 

_Maybe_ , he thought, getting to his feet, _I don’t_ want _to understand everything_. He’d have time to decide one way or the other later. While he’d been given a lot to think about, there was something more important to attend to in the Barracks proper, and he’d been forced to wait too long as it was.

* * *

“Sorry, gents,” Newkirk said with a broad grin, “but this pot is mine!”

Hogan watched Newkirk win another game and smiled. Whatever problems the Englishman was having, if any, they had left his ability to cheat at cards unaffected. While he would have liked to talk with his Corporal, he couldn’t bring himself to tear Newkirk away from his fun.

Kinch must have noticed his presence at last, for he came to stand beside him. “I was smart enough to get out after three hands,” he said conversationally. Then, more quietly, he asked: “How was London, sir?”

“Fit to be tied,” Hogan said, keeping his tone flippant but soft. “They want to know who killed him—I’m not sure if London wants to give them a medal or if they want their heads.” He was sure that it was the latter rather than the former, but he didn’t want to field questions he had no answers to. 

“Do you have any idea who they were?”

Hogan shook his head. “Adler was clocked in the mouth; Newkirk couldn’t understand anything he said.” He gestured towards his office, deciding that having the others notice them going there was better than risking the rest of this conversation being overheard.

He waited until both he and Kinch were safely behind the closed door before he spoke again. “How’s Newkirk, Kinch?”

Kinch considered it. “I think he’ll be all right,” he said at last. “He didn’t go into much detail, but, from what he said, Adler didn’t have a chance to do much more than touch him before the Kommandant told the General to stop.” 

Hogan found this difficult to believe: not that Klink would make the attempt, but that it would be successful. From what he and Kinch had heard, the General hadn’t taken disagreements very well. He hoped Newkirk had told the truth about what had happened for his own sake. Although, recalling how Adler had pinned him against the door in Klink’s quarters, merely being ‘touched’ probably hadn’t been comfortable for his Corporal either. “That’s a relief.” After a second’s hesitation, he figured he might as well find out if Kinch had solved the mystery or not. “Did he say what made him see where you’re coming from?”

The Sergeant was silent for a moment. “He and Klink had a heart to heart while they were waiting in the car, from what Peter told me.” He smiled slightly, sardonic. “Well, nothing as cozy as that, of course. Apparently, he said some pretty nasty things to the Kommandant before help arrived.”

That sounded like the Newkirk he’d been hearing from this week. Considering the fact that he’d been brought to Barracks 2 rather than to the cooler, Klink must have been in a forgiving mood. Or, with the way he seemed to loathe himself these days, perhaps he hadn’t disagreed with whatever the Corporal had said. “What did he say?”

“Pretty much what he said to me about Klink’s problem: that he’s a coward, that he’s a homosexual, that he was just playing hard to get—that kind of thing. Klink didn’t take that very well, as you can imagine.” Kinch rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though he was still trying to sort something out. “Peter didn’t go into much detail about that conversation, but that’s what changed his mind. Something Klink said made him decide to take the Kommandant at his word about Adler.” 

It wasn’t so unreasonable, Hogan supposed. After all, it was only after talking with Klink and thinking over the situation a whole lot that had changed _his_ mind. Why wouldn’t the same be true of Newkirk? Of course, with how vocal Newkirk had been with his disgust, it did seem a little odd that he’d changed his mind so quickly. 

Then again, the important part of all this was not the change in Newkirk’s out-look; it was the fact that he’d come out of this mission unscathed. “Well, I won’t miss your arguments.” 

That got a small laugh out of Kinch before he became solemn again. “I let him know that I’m here if he need to talk, but I don’t expect him to take me up on it.”

Hogan wasn’t as sure of that as he would have been this morning. To be honest, he was surprised that Kinch had gotten as much out of the Englishman as he had: in Hogan’s experience, it was very difficult to get Newkirk to talk seriously about anything he didn’t want to talk about. Which had been fine since, up until recently, it hadn’t been Hogan’s habit to pry. “I’m sure he’ll be all right—Newkirk is nothing if not resilient.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kinch agreed. “Still, I’m going to keep an eye on him tonight, just in case.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. “Just try to get some sleep yourself,” Hogan admonished lightly. “You didn’t get much shut-eye this morning.”

“Neither did you, sir.” 

Hogan grinned. “Don’t worry about me, Sergeant. I plan on making it all up tonight.” Tomorrow, he had to deal with Klink. In the past, this would not have been too taxing, but Klink’s unpredictability meant Hogan had to be on his toes. It was certain to be delicate work, and he planned to be up to the task. 


	75. A New Day Aborning

He knew there wasn’t much time. 

Albert Adler pocketed his Luger along with a box of spare ammunition. His new official papers found a home in his other coat pocket. He glanced at his small bags, fully packed. The money had been hidden in the lining of the bags—for months, he’d been taken small, nearly untraceable amounts of money out of the bank to hide in his home. He couldn’t afford to let _them_ figure out what he was planning. He’d been patient, moving slowly. 

Too slowly.

He wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve, took a moment to get a hold of himself, then surveyed the scene. Nothing suggested that he never planned on coming back. That was good. It was important that _they_ didn’t realize what he was up to until it was too late for _them_ to stop him. No doubt, _they_ were already making plans to get him out of the way. 

_They_ thought he was a fool.

He’d considered attending the funeral and then announcing plans to visit Venice—nothing so odd about a bereaved father wanting some time away from all the memories, wanting a chance to work through his grief away from prying eyes. However, he didn’t credit _them_ with enough compassion to wait for him in Venice. A part of him doubted that _they_ would even wait until after the funeral; _they_ might decide to be rid of him before he even had a chance to say goodbye to his son.

Not that there was going to be anything more than an urn to say goodbye to: the Gestapo had had his son cremated already.

The death had been classified, but he still had friends who were good enough to tell a grieving father what had happened to his only son. There had been money involved, of course, but that had been expected—even between friends, information was not free. Unfortunately, the details of the matter had been sketchy since his friend hadn’t been able to get a hold of a report that hadn’t already been censored, but there were three things he knew for certain about the incident: 

> 1) His son had been murdered.
> 
> 2) His son had been murdered in Hammelburg. 
> 
> 3) A Colonel Wilhelm Klink of the Luftwaffe had been a witness to that murder.

He’d heard of the man before. The Luftwaffe Colonel with the escape proof POW camp was not a celebrity, since very few people had actually met him, but he was known. With that kind of record, how could it be otherwise? However, Colonel Klink had taken on a more personal significance very recently as the latest man who’d caught his son’s fancy.

Josef hadn’t gone into much detail as bugged telephones had become depressingly common, but it had become fairly obvious fairly quickly that his son had found a new man to latch on to. It hadn’t exactly been welcome news—such dalliances tended to turn out badly (and expensively)—but Josef had seemed optimistic about this Wilhelm Klink, even going so far as to suggest that the Colonel might be a ‘long term solution’.

He didn’t pretend to know much about men like his son, but he remembered thinking then that maybe a stable, long-term relationship was what Josef needed. Something to keep him from being so impulsive. As much as he loved his son, he had to admit that Josef did not always think ahead. He was not as careful as he should be, considering his position. It was difficult to keep his leanings hidden when the boy insisted on being so reckless. 

It didn’t help that Josef didn’t take rejection well. Of course, he’d never taken rejection well. To be frank, the boy had always had a terrible temper. Back in the days when his son would date women, he could get rough if a lady rejected his advances. Although, he’d never been as rough with the women who’d refused him then as he’d been with the men who refused him later. More evidence, Albert supposed, that Josef just hadn’t been as invested in the women as he was in the men. 

It also didn’t help that Josef seemed to have an absolute _talent_ at being interested in men who were cowardly liars. Yes, his son _had_ beaten up a few men—and badly!—, but Albert refused to believe the utter slander that a couple of them had claimed: that Josef had forced himself on them. If they couldn’t handle being strange like Josef, they should ask for guidance from the Lord or learn to live with it rather than try to blame Josef for giving them what they’d asked for. 

Albert had lived in fear of the day when his son’s inclinations would be discovered by some authority he couldn’t bribe to look the other way. He knew what happened to men like Josef, and he would do anything to keep his boy safe.

His son’s weakness and his own willingness to cover for it was what had drawn _their_ attention to him, he had no doubts. _They_ had told him it wasn’t blackmail but insurance— _they_ would do _their_ part to keep Josef out of trouble in exchange for whatever information he could provide on a regular basis. 

He hadn’t been in the service since the Great War, since the gas had burned his lungs and the trenches had destroyed his stamina. However, while he wasn’t in the service himself, he had old friends, old influential friends, who were. Friends who were currently involved in the SS or involved with SS projects here and there. Friends who spoke too freely around an old war comrade.

Betraying friends was a difficult business, but family was more important. There had been no way to win the game _they’d_ set out for him: either he fed _them_ information, or _they_ would expose his son. _They_ had known as well as he did that going to Gestapo for help would all but guarantee Josef a discharge _at the very least_. 

He’d realized in short order that the only way to win would be to change the game. His only option was to leave Germany all together, to go to one of the few neutral countries for the remainder of the war. The hardest part would be to convince Josef to abandon his post, destroying his career, to join his father in self-imposed exile.

Would have been. That would have been the hardest part. 

He took shallow breath and let it out slowly. There was no time for that now. Before long, the sun would be up, and his hopes of getting out unnoticed would be dashed. Besides, while his plan had a margin for error, he didn’t know how long his first stop would take him. The sooner he got on the road, the better. He slung his bags over his shoulder and walked out into the darkness. 


	76. Still Alive

The first time Klink woke up, it was to pain. Everywhere. Most of the complaints were centered around his back and hips, but really all of him ached fiercely. It was not terribly surprising: he hadn't exactly been following Sergeant Wilson's advice to ‘take it easy’. In his defense, he hadn’t had much choice about what had happened on Grafweg and afterwards, but he still had to pay the price for engaging in such physically stressful activities.

Sleeping in his clothes had only exacerbated the situation, and he fumbled to unbuckle his belt as soon as he was awake enough to make the attempt. The tie was next to go, and he thought that it was a wonder he had not throttled himself in his sleep while wearing it. He definitely could breathe a little easier once he’d gotten it off his neck. The blanket he was laying on top of had a fold in it that was digging into his tender back, but he couldn’t figure out how to fix the problem without actually sitting up—the slight movements he’d made to take care of the belt and tie had been painful enough. 

Judging by the amount of light coming in through the window, he'd either been asleep for a long time or for not very much time at all. He was leaning towards the latter because he certainly didn't feel like he'd slept for very long. He rubbed his eyes almost grudgingly. If it weren't for the pain he was in, he would have gone right back to sleep. As it stood, he was going to have to do something about the pain if he wanted to get any more rest.

Klink considered the half-empty bottle of Eukadol Adler had left on his beside table with distaste. It was irrational of him to consider the pills themselves tainted just because they'd belonged to Adler, but he couldn't deny how he felt. Their association with Adler, why Adler had given them to him in the first place—there was no forgetting that. No matter how much he dearly wished he could.

A substantial part of him wanted to make some kind of grand gesture like throwing the pills in the trash or flushing them down the toilet: he didn't need anything from that swine, and he would prove it! However, the more rational part of him knew what a mistake he'd be making if he did either of those things. Clearly, for the moment at least, he _did_ need something for his pain, and he wasn't in a position where he could easily secure something similar on his own. 

Besides, there was nothing to be gained in trying to spite a dead man.

Even if Klink was still having a difficult time believing that the man in question was actually dead despite seeing him topple forwards into the snow, the back of his head becoming a ruined mass of bone, hair, and blood—

Klink shuddered and tried to put the image out of his mind. Then he slowly pushed himself up, the complaints growing in strength as he did so. No, now was definitely not the time to be making any grand gestures!

Fortunately, there was just enough water left in the pitcher on his bedside table for him to take one of the pills, which he did as soon as he liberated one from the bottle. While he worried a but about taking the Eukadol on a completely empty stomach, he was fairly confident that he couldn’t overdose himself with only one pill. He also wasn’t particularly interested in food at the moment—any hunger pangs he might be feeling were completely drowned out by the pain he was feeling. More to the point, though, after being in this much agony from merely sitting up, he didn’t think he could manage to pull himself out of bed unless his life depended on it. Maybe not even then. 

Exhausted by his struggle to get into a sitting position, he lay back down and waited for the drug to take effect. It didn’t take long—a fact that might have concerned him if he’d been able to feel concern in anything but a vague, disconnected sort of way. His stomach gurgled unhappily, but he paid it no mind. It was only unimportant noise. He closed his eyes, the effort of keeping them open deeply unrewarding. His last coherent thought before sinking into quiet darkness was to wish he’d thought to flatten the blanket out: the fold was still digging into his back.

* * *

The second time Klink woke up was also to pain, but it was the sort of sharp, hollow pain that the Eukadol couldn’t touch: his stomach, having tired of waiting to be fed, had elected to start eating itself. He frowned a bit at the image the fanciful thought had brought with it as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. 

His bedroom was darker than it had been the last time he’d come awake, making it either early evening or late morning. Not that he particularly cared which it was: either way, he was going to get up and put something in his stomach. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, he actually wanted to eat something, and he figured he ought to take advantage of the opportunity while it lasted regardless of how tired he still was.

Perhaps Schultz had already come with dinner. Of course, if the Sergeant hadn’t come yet, there were other things in the kitchen he could eat. He would prefer something more substantial than cookies or crackers, but he wasn’t feeling especially picky. But first, he actually needed to get out of bed.

Klink sat up, pleased to find the action painless. There was a crick in his back from laying on top of the folded blanket, but a nice stretch sorted that out with only the dimmest complaint from his spine. He turned on the lamp, then (more out of habit than any true desire to know the time) he picked up the alarm clock. Even as he squinted down at the numbers and deciphered the time, he realized that he couldn’t hear the clock ticking. It must have wound down. His eyes narrowed as he tried to recall the last time he’d wound the thing. After a couple of seconds, he gave up and set the clock back down. 

A pointed pain punctuated by a loud growl from his stomach reminded him of his priorities. He could reset the clock later, if he felt the need. Now, he needed to get out of bed. He stood slowly, prepared for the vertigo that would (and did) follow the action. Klink wasn’t too concerned as he waited for the dizziness to pass since he understood the cause and knew he’d feel better once he’d eaten something. It took longer than he would have liked for the room to stop spinning.

He slipped a robe over his rumpled clothes, made a brief search for his slippers, then decided the socks he was wearing were plenty to walk around in. He had only taken two steps towards his destination before he noticed the light coming from under the door to the living room. 

_This seems familiar_ , he observed, his inner voice oddly calm considering the sudden surge of terror that had flooded his body. He took a step back without conscious thought, his mind returning to the last time this had happened, when it had been Adler out there waiting for him. 

He shook his head slowly. No. No one was out there—certainly not _Adler_! He’d probably left the light on himself. He’d gone to bed in his uniform, after all; was it so strange to think he’d forgotten to turn the light off, too? Or maybe Schultz had come already and _he’d_ left it on. In any event, there was no reason for him to be carrying on like this. He certainly was not going to hide in his room behind this door like a child under his blanket waiting for the monster to go away. His monster had already been dealt with. He had nothing to fear. Nothing.

His hand trembled as he reached out for the doorknob, and he opened the door quickly before he could lose his nerve to. The brighter light of the living room blinded him for a moment, then his vision cleared, and he froze. 

Klink’s rational mind had been convinced that he wouldn’t find anyone—not Adler and not anyone else—and that his paranoia had simply overcome his sense once again. His paranoia, on the other hand, while completely certain that _someone_ who meant him harm was laying in wait for him, hadn’t come up with any sort of plan as to what he ought to do in that case. His paranoia wasn’t one for plans, and his rational mind had seen no reason to come up with any. 

So, when he saw there actually _was_ someone standing in his living room, _both_ sides of his mind were caught off guard. 

To be fair, Schultz looked fairly startled himself. Schultz also recovered far more quickly. His face radiated relief as he saluted. “Sir!”

Klink shared the relief, but he was far too busy trying to regain some control over his overreacting body to immediately find his voice. “Sch-Schultz?” he finally managed. “What are you, what are you doing here?” He realized the answer himself a split second before the Sergeant held out a covered plate with his free hand.

“I brought you dinner,” Schultz declared grandly. “A nice cabbage soup.” Then he smiled as though sharing a secret. “I got you _two_ slices of bread.” Then he waited with one hand holding out the plate while the other hand shielded his eyes. After a while, his smile dimmed to cautious confusion. “Sir?”

Even after that, it took an embarrassingly long time for Klink to realize what the Sergeant was waiting for. He returned the salute, feeling his face grow hot. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said, trying to keep his annoyance with himself to himself. “Just, just put it on the table.”

He’d failed, but if his tone had bothered the guard, he hid it well as he did as he was bid. “I’m sorry if it’s not warm enough,” Schultz apologized, “but Colonel Hogan stopped me out in the compound.”

While Klink’s stomach wanted nothing more than to rip the cover off the plate and eat everything underneath regardless of its temperature, the mention of the American whet his curiosity. “What for?”

“Oh, ah,” Schultz began, unaccountably nervous. “He wanted to know h-how you were doing.”

That much didn’t seem to be anything to be nervous about. Although, he reconsidered with a stab of self-loathing, he was hardly in a position to judge someone else for unwarranted nervousness. He also carefully ignored the small burst of happiness that had come with knowing Hogan had asked after him. “What did you tell him?”

“That you are well but tired.” Schultz shrugged. “I told him you probably wouldn’t want company tonight.”

There was no ‘probably’ about it. Even with all the time he’d already slept, if not for the gnawing hunger in his stomach, he’d still be in bed. If he felt any differently after he’d eaten, he’d be surprised—now that his earlier rush of adrenaline was fading away, he could feel how weary he was. He looked to the Sergeant then to the covered plate and back. He had an appetite at last, and there was no reason to have Schultz standing over him while he ate. “Thank you, Sergeant. You may go.”

It was obvious that Schultz was in no particular hurry to do as he’d been asked. He stood there, his brow furrowing as he looked from Klink to the covered plate and back. Then he clasped his hands together. “You’re going to eat, aren’t you?”

Klink didn’t like the sound of the question. It almost sounded like an accusation: ‘You’re not actually going to eat anything, are you?’ It almost sounded like a threat: ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll eat.’ An uncomfortable mixture of indignation, defensiveness, and fear churned in his empty stomach. Before he could decide what to say in response, Schultz spoke again.

“I only mean to say that it’s actually pretty good tonight,” the Sergeant explained quickly. “It’d be a shame to waste it, because it’s good.” He pushed his hands into his pockets as his words continued to pick up speed and volume. “You don’t _have_ to eat, if you don’t want to—I’m not going to force you to eat if you don’t want to! But you probably should eat something because I know you didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’m sure those Gestapo brutes didn’t feed you properly this morning, and then you missed lunch. It can’t be good for you to be missing so many meals. I just don’t want you to make yourself ill, sir!”

For a long moment, Klink could only stare, his mouth slightly agape. The near shout that Schultz had been using by the end hadn’t done anything good for Klink’s nerves, but the sheer torrent of words had left Klink feeling more nonplussed than panicked. Then, as he absorbed the meaning of the words, his shoulders relaxed and his face flushed once more. The sad part was that Schultz had had every reason to believe that the long rambling justification for his original question had been necessary. 

The worst part was that the Sergeant hadn’t been wrong.

“Sir?” Schultz was definitely worried now.

Klink forced himself to smile. “I have every intention of eating,” he said once he felt collected enough to do so in an even tone. “I just don’t want to have someone standing over me while I do it.”

There was no mistaking the relief on the guard’s face. “Understood, sir,” he said brightly. “Enjoy your dinner.” 

Moments later, Klink was alone. While he was relieved that Schultz was gone, he was rather glum that he _did_ feel so relieved. His paranoia was clearly still as intractable as ever. But it had been foolish of him to have expected any differently. Just because Adler was dead, that didn’t mean Klink would suddenly regain control of his wayward brain! He sighed as he sat heavily into the chair, feeling a faint complaint from his injuries. The source of his injuries was gone, but they still hurt. 

It was as absurd to expect Adler’s death to dampen his paranoia as it was to expect Adler’s death to make his bruises go away. Klink had realized that before, of course, but he’d _hoped_....

But maybe he was just being too impatient. His physical injuries would need time to heal—why shouldn’t the same be true of his mind? And it wasn’t as though Adler had been dead for all that long yet. A day—no!, less. So little time, in fact, that Klink still found it difficult to believe that the swine was actually gone. Even though he’d watched Adler’s unmoving body for hours as the storm slowly draped him with a snowy shroud—

He shook his head in an attempt to force the memory from his mind, to return to his earlier train of thought. The point was that, given enough time, Klink would be able to regain control of his paranoia. Given enough time, if he could never _be_ normal again, at least he could act like it.

Klink wished he believed either of those things.

His stomach made noises of unhappy impatience, and he found himself still ravenous even in the face of his dreary thoughts. He lifted the cover from the plate.

Despite Schultz’s apology, the soup was warm. Beyond that, Klink honestly couldn’t have said, because he ate it all far too quickly to be certain of anything as unimportant as flavor. All he was interested in was getting the contents of the bowl into his mouth as quickly as he could. The bread also consumed in short order. The hollow feeling he'd grown used to over the last few days disappeared along with the food.

* * *

_Richter stared down at him, frowning deeply. “Aren't you the Kommandant of Stalag 13? What are you doing out here?”_

_What to say? What to say? What to say! The Walther pointed at him as well as the corpse laying next to him made it very clear that his answer to this question was very important. Klink wasn't a fast thinker at the best of times—and having a warm, recently used, gun barrel pressed against his forehead wasn't helping_.

_Said barrel nudged him roughly as Richter's patience visibly ebbed. “Answer me!”_

_Klink's tongue felt like a lump of dry clay in his mouth. His brain felt as useless as his tongue. What to say? What to say? He opened his mouth but could not summon up any words. All he could do was stare dumbly up at the Gestapo Captain as the man's patience eroded away completely._

_The flash of the Walther's barrel—_

—was the last thing Klink saw before opening his eyes and seeing nothing but darkness. After a moment's confusion as his brain and body shared conflicting information, he realized he'd had a nightmare. His heart was still thudding wildly in his chest, but the fear that had caused the reaction had already been replaced with relief. Just a nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, trying to put the vivid images out of his mind.

One thing was for certain: there would be no more sleeping for a while—he was in no hurry to revisit his dreams and the adrenaline had him quite alert. As he pushed the blanket off him, he noticed the air was chilly. The stove would need tending to before too long if he didn't want it to get even colder in his quarters. However, he decided he ought to take care of his morning ablations first. And maybe change out of his bed clothes. 

As much as he'd like to hide in his quarters for the day, he knew that allowing himself to do so would set a precedent he would find hard to break.

Once he'd gotten up and gotten himself to the bathroom, Klink considered his options. A shower was out of the question as he was not anxious to get his bandages wet. In the end, he settled for splashing some water on his face before changing into fresh clothes. It wasn't truly enough to make him feel clean, but the idea of going through everything he'd need to do to clean himself up without making the American medic cross was exhausting just to think about. 

After he was clothed, Klink checked his reflection in the mirror. An old man with a faint, yellowing bruise on his pale cheek and deep, dark circles under his eyes grimaced back at him. Putting in the monocle didn't improve the picture much, although now he could see it a bit more clearly. His eyes were drawn to the mottled skin around his throat. His flight scarf could work to cover that up, he supposed. 

Perhaps, if he were lucky, no one would be coming to camp today that he'd have to hide bruises from. 

Klink's mouth turned up in a wry smile. Surely, his limited allotment of luck been used up after last night! His smile faded as the man in the mirror's mouth flattened into a thin-lipped line. The thought hadn’t reminded him of his nightmare: he’d failed to stop thinking of it to start with. Despite his efforts to flood his thoughts with minutia, the images from his nightmare were still fresh in his mind; the echo of the gunshot still rang in his ears. 

How easily it could have gone that way. He couldn’t suppress the shuddered that accompanied the thought. He could have _died_ last night. He could have been murdered just as he’d feared Adler would murder him. All that had stood between him and the fate that had befallen Adler had been his own wits. If he weren’t feeling so ill at the notion that so little had been between him and death, he might have been impressed with his conduct that night.

As it was...

As it was, he was still here, still alive, and there wasn't much point in focusing on how remarkable a fact that really was.

The stove was his next objective. Luckily, his efforts after dinner had left him plenty of hot embers among the ashes to work with, and he was able to bring the fire back with little trouble. A fact for which he was thankful: the Eukadol he’d taken earlier was wearing off, and the bending had been painful. While the pain wasn’t the excruciating thing it had been before, he didn’t want to play high poker with his health. Besides, Sergeant Wilson was bound to be vexed if Klink didn’t start following his advice!

Klink held his hands over the stove to warm them as thoughts of that particular conversation with that particular prisoner reminded him of a different conversation with a different prisoner. He stared down at the stove, thinking of what was hidden beneath it. At the time, when Hogan had showed the tunnel to him, Klink had been too busy being disgusted with himself to be disturbed by the implications. But now that he had a chance to think about the tunnel’s presence without having other, more immediate troubles to focus on... Well, even _before_ Adler, the idea of his prisoners being able to enter his quarters at will would have disturbed him. 

It certainly disturbed him now. His paranoia, perhaps not convinced Klink was disturbed enough, spared some moments to come up with a variety of sordid purposes such a tunnel could serve. While he did his best not to give any of those ideas any credence, he did have to wonder why the prisoners would have bothered with digging a tunnel beneath his stove in the first place. Hogan had never struck Klink as the sort of man who did anything without a reason, ergo, there must be a reason for a tunnel into his quarters. 

He wondered if Hogan would tell him what that reason was if he asked. He wondered if he really wanted to know. Sure, Hogan had told him that there wasn’t ‘much call’ for the tunnel under his stove, but what did that mean? Only that Hogan didn’t use this tunnel often—not that he didn’t use it at all! And it wasn’t as though Hogan were the only one who could use this tunnel either. Yes, if Corporal Newkirk could be believed, there were _some_ prisoners ‘rooting for him’, but Klink knew that most of his prisoners were... not terribly fond of him. 

Klink bit his lip. The fact that none of them had, so far, come up out of that tunnel into his quarters to do something horrible to him was not especially comforting. There had to be something he could do about this. There had to be some way to make the tunnel inaccessible. There had to be some way to protect himself! 

He knew better even as he thought it. Even if, by some miracle, Klink managed to find a way to make the tunnel impassible, Hogan was surely clever enough to fulfill his purposes without it. Whatever those purposes might be. And, for all he knew, Hogan could have two tunnels into his quarters. Or five. Or ten! If the American wanted to see him, or steal from him, or hurt him, Hogan didn’t necessarily need _this_ particular tunnel to accomplish that. 

As much as Klink wanted to think that he was being unfair and that he was worrying over nothing, he couldn’t quite manage it. Assuming that he believed that Hogan actually liked him as he’d claimed (which Klink didn’t want to believe but did in spite of himself), Klink doubted that would be true once Hogan had been told how he’d been used. 

Because what he worried over the most wasn’t how embarrassing his explanation would be to give or even Hogan’s immediate reaction to said explanation—embarrassment had become a nearly permanent fixture of his life, and he was almost enured to being struck. No, what he was most worried about was what would happened afterward, when Hogan had had a chance to think about everything. When Hogan had had a chance to decide what he’d do about it.

Klink tried to put himself in Hogan’s place, tried to imagine what _he_ would do if someone had told _him_ what he would be telling Hogan, but he found it an exercise in futility. It was impossible to know what Hogan would ultimately do without knowing where he stood with Hogan in the first place. Yes, he must mean _something_ to the man (otherwise, the American would not have taken him into his confidence), but Klink certainly didn’t know what that something was.

Although it was impossible to truly know and all his guesses were worthless, Klink felt too pessimistic to believe that Hogan would ever forgive him for using him like he had. If he were lucky, Hogan would be able to pretend in public that nothing had changed, while, away from prying eyes … well, they’d probably never play a friendly game of chess again.

If he _weren’t_ lucky … maybe he’d be ‘put down’ as Hogan had suggested Adler be.

Even taking that very real risk to his life into account, the thought of lying to Hogan hadn't entered his mind. Well, it _had_ entered his mind—of course, it had!—but it hadn't been entertained for more than a moment or two. He refused to repay Hogan's honesty with deceit. He didn't feel much like a man anymore, but he would do his best to conduct himself like one. Klink was used to paying high prices these days, and he was fairly certain that, whatever Hogan ultimately decided to do, _he_ at least wouldn't toy with him as Adler did.

Had. As Adler had.

Even though Klink had been there when Adler had been murdered, he still found it hard to believe that the man was truly dead. That he was actually gone. That he would never be coming back. It all just seemed too good to be true, and recent events had made Klink very wary of anything that seemed too good to be true. Even if it were _indisputably_ true. Adler was dead. Klink had been there to see Adler die. He'd watched Adler die. He'd sat in the back of a truck with Adler's frozen body wrapped in a tarp, watching the melting blood drip from what was left of his head out of the end of the trap onto the floor to pool near his boots—

Klink shivered; the warmth of the stove not up to the task of warming those cold memories. He didn't want to think about those times anymore. He didn't want to think about Adler being alive; he didn't want to think about Adler being dead; he didn't want to think about Adler at all. Klink was here, and Adler wasn't.

If only he could stop thinking about the swine!

A quick look at the clock told him that it was a couple hours before the time he'd be going out to do Roll Call, back when he used to _do_ Roll Call. Eventually, he was going to have to start doing them again, but he knew he couldn't yet. The thought of all of those men with their piercing eyes and hate-filled stares made Klink's chest constrict and his stomach do unpleasant little flips. 

However, it would be a step in the right direction if he were at least in his office to hear the report rather than in his quarters. Decision made, he made his way into his office. Once inside, he saw that the maid had been here, too. The broken glass had been picked up, and the damaged picture frames had been hung back onto the wall. A few of them were hopelessly askew and none of them were in the right places, but he found himself not caring very much. They could wait.

The rather sizable pile of papers on his desk, however, probably couldn't. The various reports and requisitions and payroll and so on _did_ tend to pile up unless he kept on top of them. Which he hadn't. He hadn't managed to complete _any_ paperwork for nearly a week. He was thankful that he'd had someone else working on them in his stead. From the look of things, Fraulein Hilda had been very busy. He regarded the pile of papers for a moment longer and decided that he definitely owed Hilda more money for what she'd done for him.

At the moment, though, Klink had some work of his own to do. He sat down, turned on his desk lamp, and located a pen with something like excitement building in his chest. It felt like such a long time since he'd actually done anything related to his actual job as Stalag 13's Kommandant. He plucked the first document off the stack, scanned it, saw that everything was in order, then signed his name. Considering the fact that all he'd done was write his own name, he felt an embarrassing amount of accomplishment. For a some time, he repeated the routine, marveling at how comforting the mundanity of the act was.

Normal. It was all so perfectly normal.

Once the final paper was signed, he set it on top of the new pile he'd made with a little sigh. While doing all of that reading in the dim light had given him a pounding headache, doing the work had been nice while it'd lasted. He glanced at the clock, but the time was not what caught his attention. There, right on the corner of his desk, was his Luger. Partly, he was surprised that he hadn't noticed it before now, but mostly, he was startled that the pistol was there at all. The last time he'd seen it, it had been in Major Hochstetter's hands. 

Yet, somehow, the Luger had found its way here.

After a moment's hesitation, Klink reached out for the pistol and grabbed it, the grip rough against his palm. He could smell spent gunpowder from the barrel, but a cautious examination found the barrel itself cold. So, not fired recently. Where had it come from? How had it gotten here? He considered the questions a moment longer, then felt stupid. 

Someone must have given it to Schultz for safe-keeping, and Schultz must have left it here. Quickly, he ejected the magazine. Empty. He returned the piece to its proper place, feeling himself relax. Without bullets, the Luger was just a paperweight. Perfectly innocuous. Perfectly safe. He wiped nervous sweat off his brow and deposited the pistol back into the ruined bottom desk drawer.


	77. Rolling Along

“I’ve polled everyone,” Sergeant Weber announced as he approached Schultz, “and it seems that all the prisoners are accounted for.”

At least, Colonel Hogan hadn’t been joking about taking a break from the monkey business. Schultz wondered, a bit cynically, how long _that_ reprieve would last. “Thank you, Weber. You can dismiss them.”

“Of course.” Weber hesitated. Then he came closer and leaned in. “Schultz, this is all a bit irregular, isn’t it? You conducting the Rolls yourself like this?”

It was _very_ irregular, and Schultz was almost surprised it had taken this long for anyone to question it. ‘Almost’ because most of the guards here were like himself: incurious for their own safety. Weber could usually be counted among those who had little interest in the strange things that happened in camp as long as his pay came regularly, so it was strange that _he_ was the first one to raise the question. But raised it, he had, so now Schultz had to come up with an answer to give him. “The Kommandant is indisposed.”

Weber cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “Indisposed? Still? What’s the matter with him?”

There was a question that didn’t have a safe answer! “He’s... he’s ill,” Schultz said at last, deciding that cleaving to the truth as much as he was able was probably the best sort of lie to tell under the circumstances.

“Must be pretty ill,” Weber said conversationally, “to have missed so many Roll Calls.”

Schultz nodded. “He is.”

Weber was frowning. “But he wasn’t too ill to leave camp with that Gestapo General,” he countered. He shook his head. “Where is _he_ anyway? The Kommandant came back yesterday with you, but it’s like that General’s been swallowed up by the ground!”

Weber had no idea how right he was. Schultz sighed. He hadn’t been told whether or not Adler’s death was being kept secret or if it was meant to become common knowledge, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to make Weber leave him be without telling him _something_. “I need you to keep this to yourself,” he said seriously.

“Of course,” Weber agreed, immediately dropping his coy suspicious act. “What’s going on?”

Schultz took a moment to choose his words. “That night he left camp with the Kommandant, he was killed.”

Weber’s eyes widened. “What? Really?” He rocked back on his heels as he absorbed the news. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Schultz said because he didn’t. “All I know is that he was killed.”

“Well,” Weber said at last, still in some shock. “I suppose that answers the question of why I haven’t seen him.” He frowned. “Did something happen to the Kommandant when he was killed? Is that why he’s not doing Roll this morning?”

It was a better excuse than anything Schultz had come up with. He nodded. “So, please, keep this to yourself. I’m sure the Big Shot will be doing the Rolls himself again soon.” He hoped that was true, but he wasn’t sure of any such thing.

“All right, Schultz,” Weber said, shaking his head again. “I won’t tell anyone.” He stood up straighter. “I’ll go let the boys know that Roll’s over.”

Schultz watched Weber leave, relieved that he’d gotten out of that conversation relatively unscathed. However, he was uncomfortably aware that the next such conversation was due to happen at any time—there were more curious guards than Weber! There could be trouble from one of the few ambitious guards if this arrangement continued much longer. He would just have to convince the Kommandant to conduct Roll Calls himself again. Perhaps he could broach the subject when he brought Klink his breakfast?

His head and his stomach had a brief disagreement, but he decided he ought to wait until after delivering Klink’s breakfast before getting his own breakfast. The subject of the Roll Calls needed to be raised as soon as possible, and if that required a small personal sacrifice on his part, so be it. Once he’d collected something from the mess, he wasted no time getting to the office building. 

Fraulein Hilda looked up from her papers when he entered, gracing him with a tired smile. “Good morning, Schultz. Done with Roll Call already?”

He noted her demeanor but didn’t see anything he could directly attribute it to. “Yes. I’ve brought the Kommandant’s breakfast.”

“He’s in his office,” she said distractedly, returning her attention back to her paperwork. She frowned and scribbled something out.

 _That’s a good sign_ , Schultz thought. This would be the first time he’d be delivering the morning Roll Call report in the Kommandant’s office since this arrangement had started. Maybe convincing the Colonel to resume conducting Roll Calls wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d feared!

As Hilda had said, Colonel Klink was indeed in his office, sitting behind his desk. Like Hilda, his head was also bent down over some paperwork. He looked up when the door shut behind Schultz, his expression a mixture of confusion and trepidation as his hand came up to touch the flight scarf he was wearing. “Yes? What is it?”

Schultz saluted. “All of the prisoners are accounted for, sir.”

A small, relieved smile. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He returned the salute. “Is that my breakfast?” he asked, pointing to the covered plate Schultz was carrying.

“Yes, sir.” Schultz set the plate beside the papers on the desk before removing the cover. It was just oatmeal this morning: bland but edible. He hoped his commander would eat it. 

Klink regarded the oatmeal with obvious weariness. Then he picked up the spoon, took an experimental bite, and grimaced before returning the spoon to its place inside the bowl. “Very good,” he said dully. “Dismissed.” He stared back down at the papers, confusion blossoming on his face as his eyes flicked back and forth.

“Sir,” Schultz said, feeling timid—he’d just been dismissed and that generally wasn’t the time to start making requests!—, “do you have a moment? I, I need to discuss something with you.”

The Colonel looked up from his work once more, a worried frown forming between his brows. “What is it?”

“It’s about Roll Call,” Schultz began, deciding he might as well get right to the point. “When are you going to start doing them again?” When Klink didn’t answer within a few seconds, he continued, “One of the guards questioned our arrangement this morning. I’m sure he won’t be the only one.”

Still, Klink said nothing. Worry and something like shame showed in his suddenly slumped posture and lowered gaze. He twisted his fingers and did not look up from them as silent seconds passed by. 

This wasn’t going well, but Schultz didn’t see how he could try to pretend now that he’d never brought the topic up. Besides, the problem wouldn’t just go away if they ignored it long enough—a fact Schultz was beginning to understand was true of many problems. “You said it, too, sir,” he tried again, using the reasonable tone he usually saved for his children when they were being contrary. “It’s irregular for me to be doing all of the Rolls for you, and it’s not surprising that people are starting to notice.”

The silence had just stretched long enough for Schultz to consider speaking again when the Kommandant finally spoke. “I know,” he said, his tone filled with quiet shame. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But I’m... I’m not—I don’t think I can do it.” He was still staring at his now motionless fingers. “Not yet. I’m not ready yet.”

With those words, Schultz realized he didn’t know _why_ the Colonel had decided to stop doing Roll Calls to begin with. He wasn’t anxious to break his rule, but he didn’t see any way around it. How could he convince Klink to start conducting Roll Call again without knowing why Klink had stopped in the first place? “Sir, why... Why did you ask me to do them for you?”

Klink sighed but, to the Sergeant’s relief, he was actually looking at Schultz again. “Remember what I told you the other day, about me being irrational?”

Schultz nodded. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget that conversation. It wasn’t every day that he managed to terrify someone by being concerned about their welfare. He didn’t think he’d ever forget his commander admitting to being afraid of him; no matter how much he wished he could.

“Well, this is more of the same,” Klink went on, the shame in his tone now joined by bitter frustration. “I’m afraid of them, all right? I’m afraid of my prisoners.” He held up a hand, as though to interrupt a comment Schultz hadn’t planned to make. “I can’t convince myself I’m being foolish because, unlike _you_ , I know that _they_ hate me.”

The explanation probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. If Klink could be afraid of _him_ , why _wouldn’t_ he be afraid of the prisoners as well? “You’d be in no danger, Kommandant,” Schultz said with what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “None of us guards would let anything happened to you.”

“Because you all did so well to protect me before!” Klink snapped. His eyes widened and he brought his hand up to his mouth. “I-I’m sorry, Schultz,” he apologized, his horrified tone matching his horrified expression. “I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Schultz wanted to deny the harsh words, but he couldn’t. “No. You’re right.” He bowed his head for a moment, trying to find the words to explain himself—there was no excusing himself, and he felt too guilty to try. “I... I didn’t recognize what was wrong until Fraulein Hilda came to me,” he admitted. “If Hilda hadn’t come to me with _her_ concerns, I might never have figured it out.” He closed his eyes. “I wasn’t vigilant enough. I should have been paying closer attention.”

Silence. “Look at me, Sergeant.” The command was tired.

Schultz followed the order, finding the Kommandant giving him an equally tired smile. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.” He splayed out his hands entreatingly. “What could you have done that wouldn’t have gotten both of us in trouble?” Not waiting for an answer, he shook his head. “I was feeling sorry for myself; I didn’t mean it.”

The words had been true whether Klink had meant them or not. Schultz didn’t have an answer to Klink’s question, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t one—only that Schultz was too stupid to figure it out. Still, the Kommandant had to know that himself, so Schultz saw no reason to start arguing with him. “All right, sir.” He hesitated, not wanting to force the issue of he’d come into this office to discuss but knowing he couldn’t leave without trying one more time. “About Roll Call, Kommandant—”

“No!” Klink looked momentarily surprised himself, then he took a shuddering breath and returned his gaze to his hands. “I can’t. I’m not ready yet,” he said, his tone so ashamed that Schultz could not bring himself to press the point any further. 

He’d have to try again tomorrow. “Understood, sir.”

The stark expression of gratitude on the Kommandant’s face when he looked up at Schultz made the Sergeant feel ill. “Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed.” Klink bent his head over his paper work and picked up his pen. “Thank you,” he added, so quietly that Schultz almost didn’t hear it. Schultz wondered if he’d been meant to.

He left the office without saying another word. When he shut the door, he saw Hilda looking at him. “How is he?” she asked in a way that told Schultz she already knew full well how the Kommandant was.

Schultz shook his head. 

Hilda looked down at her desk for a moment. “He’s insisting on doing his own paperwork again,” she said suddenly, sounding strangely glum with what should have been good news.“But they’re all wrong.” She gestured to the papers in front of her. “Every. Single. One of them has something wrong with it. I want to tell him to stop, to just let me do them myself instead of trying to fix his mistakes.” She bit her lip. “But I can’t do that to him—not when he’s trying so hard!”

 _At least he’s making the_ attempt _with the paperwork_ , Schultz thought but didn’t say. “He told me he’s not ready to conduct Roll Call yet.” He frowned. As much as he wished it was otherwise, Colonel Klink still wasn’t himself, and he had the sinking feeling that Klink wouldn’t ever be the same as he had been before. _Even if I’m wrong, and all the Kommandant needs is more time—_ “I don’t know how much longer it can continue like this before he gets into trouble.”

“I know.” Hilda’s expression was sad, almost defeated. “But what can we do?”

Schultz had no answer, and he was sure she knew it. He’d just been trying to decide on a comforting platitude that he was sure would fail to comfort either of them when the door to the outside opened and an unwelcome figure strode inside.


	78. Counting Chickens

It had taken Hochstetter far too long to realize that Schmidt had _not_ thought of everything to retard Hochstetter's investigation. It was simple, really. General Adler had been visiting Stalag 13. A man of his stature would not have simply been dropped off there. While it was possible Alder had had an aide who’d driven him there, that seemed unlikely—if that had been the case, Adler’s aide would have been with Adler and Klink. If Adler hadn’t had an aide, he must have driven _himself_ to Stalag 13. Which meant his car was still there. Which meant his belongings were still there.

True, it was a gamble to expect that there would be anything among those possessions that could shed any light on why the General had been murdered, but it was the only possible lead he had now that Schmidt had taken everything else he'd collected to Berlin. He’d take the risk of wasting his time rather than the risk of letting something important slip through his fingers.

He'd decided to wait until morning before he put his plan into action because he didn't want to make it obvious how desperate he was to gain access to whatever General Adler had brought with him to Stalag 13. The Kommandant of Stalag 13 was a fool, but Burkhalter was not—Colonel Klink was bound to call the Luftwaffe General should Hochstetter come in the middle of the night, making demands. But, if Hochstetter came in at a reasonable time in the morning, claiming that he'd been charged with returning Adler's things to Berlin...

There was no reason why it wouldn't work.

So, he'd waited and arrived at the gates of Stalag 13 around 0840. Early, but not suspiciously so. The guard at the gate let him through with a minimum of fuss, and when his driver parked in front of the office building, Hochstetter was feeling so confident, he told the driver to keep the engine running. This wouldn't take long.

When he entered the office building, he saw that he'd interrupted a conversation between the secretary and Klink's Sergeant of the guards. For the split second before they could react to his presence, they'd looked worried. At the moment, he had little interest in the doings of Klink's subordinates, so the observation was discarded almost immediately.

“I'm here to see Colonel Klink,” he said to the secretary. There were times when Hochstetter hadn't bothered asking for permission, preferring to simply force his way in. This time, not wanting to arouse any suspicion, he figured he ought to adhere to protocol for now. He didn't want to give the spineless weasel any reason to call that interloper Burkhalter. 

The secretary glanced at the Sergeant who gave the tiniest of shrugs. She smiled at Hochstetter. “I'll ask if the Kommandant wants to see you.”

Hochstetter blinked. Generally, the protocol was that he was simply announced. Generally, no one was given the _option_ of refusing him entry. He was so busy being shocked by the notion that he could only stare as the secretary opened the office door a crack. 

“Sir? Major Hochstetter is here to see you. Do you want me to show him in?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then: “Sergeant Schultz can bring him in.”

“He'll see you now, sir,” the secretary said sweetly, holding the door open wide to admit him into the office proper.

 _To admit_ us, he corrected silently as he noted the presence of the guard behind him. Strange. This whole situation was strange. Hochstetter had come to this camp more times than he wanted to remember, and he _knew_ how this was all supposed to work. So, why was this visit turning out so differently?

When he entered the office, he was surprised once more when the Kommandant remained seated. Generally, the man made a fool of himself when Hochstetter came, acting welcoming to the point of obsequiousness. This time, the Colonel merely looked up at him as though waiting for something.

Hochstetter didn't usually salute this man, Klink generally didn't seem to notice, but since everything else was different today, why not this as well? He saluted stiffly. “Colonel.”

A slight smile. “Major,” Klink greeted mildly after returning the salute, “what brings you here?” The tone offered nothing; his expression offered less.

Since when had the Kommandant of Stalag 13 become so hard to read? Hochstetter drew himself up, forcing the strangeness of the last five minutes out of his mind. He'd come here for a purpose, and he wasn't going to be put off so easily. “I'm here to collect General Adler's belongings.”

Klink tilted his head before shaking it slowly. “I'm sorry, Major, but I don't think I should let you do that.”

Hochstetter had expected some argument, and he was prepared. “Colonel Schmidt called me this morning personally to request that I take charge of General Adler's things.”

The older man raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Forgive me if I find that extremely difficult to believe. The Colonel didn't seem all that fond of you.”

For a moment, Hochstetter was completely dumbfounded. Since when was the Kommandant of Stag 13 the least bit perceptive or the least bit suspicious? With an effort, he was able to keep his tone even in the face of this questioning of his authority. “Never the less, those are my orders. I expect you to comply.”

Klink's eyes narrowed. “Those aren't _my_ orders, _Major_.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I don't particularly care _what_ you're expecting. I think I'm going to just hold on to Adl—to the General's things until someone with a little more authority than _you_ comes to claim them.” 

How _dare_ he! No one spoke to Major Hochstetter that way! Especially not some Luftwaffe weakling from some inconsequential camp! He growled deep in his throat and was pleased to see Klink go pale. “I'm all the _authority_ you need. I suggest you start cooperating before I arrest you for obstructing a Gestapo investigation!”

By the time he'd finished, some of the color had returned to Klink's face. “Which investigation? The one that Colonel Schmidt told me was over with yesterday?” Before Hochstetter could respond, Klink splayed out his hands. “However, if you want to insist on your claim to be working on Colonel Schmidt's behalf,” he reached out for the telephone on his desk, then held the receiver aloft, his hand trembling, “perhaps I should just call the Colonel and get some confirmation. What do you say to _that_ , Major?”

Hochstetter had finally had enough of this unusually stubborn cretin. He surged forward and slammed his hands on the desk top. He was immensely gratified to see the pure terror in Klink's eyes as the telephone receiver tumbled out of his hand. “You listen to _me_ , you officious weasel,” he hissed. “You _will_ give me what I want or you _will_ regret it. Do I make myself clear!”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him away from the desk. “That's enough,” said a quiet, dangerous voice behind his head. 

Turning, Hochstetter was startled to find the normally docile Sergeant Schultz glowering down at him, the normally soft features twisted into something fairly terrifying. Of course, it took more than an angry fat man to intimidate Wolfgang Hochstetter! “You will unhand me this _instant_.”

Incredibly, the guard's grip remained firm. “Kommandant?”

The Colonel had lost his composure completely. His furious expression was a poor match for his ashen face but his wild eyes promised reckoning. “Get him out of here!” he ordered shrilly, jabbing a shaking finger towards the door. “And if he refuses to leave, I want him thrown in the cooler!”

“Yessir!” The Sergeant sounded so pleased with himself that Hochstetter felt his temper coming to a boil once again. 

Hochstetter wrenched his shoulder out of the other man's hold. Or, rather, he tried to. A second later, he was being held by both shoulders as the guard began dragging him from the office. “This isn't over!” he screamed. “You are going to regret this—I'll see to it!”

Whatever answer Klink was planning to give, if any, was lost as the Sergeant kicked the office door closed behind them. 

“Let go of me!” Hochstetter demanded, beginning his struggles anew.

After a moment, the Sergeant complied. He would not move away from the office door, however, no matter how loudly Hochstetter shouted at him to do so. 

“I have my orders, sir,” Schultz said at last. “Either you leave, or I put you in the cooler.”

Hochstetter felt his mouth go slack. The Sergeant was _serious_. He would actually do it; he would actually throw him into the cooler. Hochstetter wasn't overly concerned with the prospect of being thrown into a cell, but the fact that they actually believed they'd get away with it or, worse, that they didn't fear what the repercussions might be— _that_ was terrifying. “Both of you are insane,” he growled, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I'll leave, but I'll be back—you can count on it!” 

The guard shrugged as though not particularly concerned. “As you say, sir.”

“Bah!” Hochstetter turned on his heel and stamped out of the office building to his car. He ignored the questioning look from the driver as he plopped himself into the car. He took the door handle into a white-knuckled grip and slammed the door with all his might, picturing the insubordinate Sergeant's and the obstinate Colonel's heads nestled in the door frame. “Take us back to headquarters,” he commanded tersely. 

Hands clenched into impotent fists, he glared out the window as the car passed out of the camp and onto the road. _This is far from over_ , he vowed to himself. Someday, Klink would not have Schmidt to hide behind. Then, Hochstetter would expose the truth. Eventually, someone would slip-up, and he would have his answers. All he needed to do was wait and watch.

About five minutes later, he noticed what appeared to be a civilian vehicle pass them on the road heading to Stalag 13. He considered having the driver turn the car around and follow—very few civilians had any business going to a POW camp and certainly not in a car like that one—but he ultimately decided that he'd seen enough of Stalag 13 and its fool of a Kommandant. He doubted that finding out the business that car was on would be worth _that_ irritation.


	79. Becoming a Bit Less Dirty

Hogan was not surprised that Klink was not conducting roll call once again, but he could admit (to himself) being disappointed. The last time he’d seen the man was to watch Klink walk up the stairs of the office building with Schultz. While it had been good to see that Klink was walking under his own power and while Schultz had told him that Klink was all right but tired, Hogan was impatient to speak with him personally. 

And not only to get a more complete explanation of just what exactly had happened on Grafweg. Though, he was impatient to learn that as well. But Hogan had already decided to give the Kommandant a chance to send for him first instead of dropping in. He wouldn’t wait all day, but he was patient enough to spare a few hours. 

After grabbing something to eat, he returned to his office, ostensibly to catch a few more winks—hardly suspicious considering how many late nights he’d had lately—but he had no intention of returning to his bunk. He sat at his desk and considered the coffee pot. It would be reconnaissance! His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. Even he didn’t buy it and he was the one selling it. There was a good reason for that: it wasn’t true.

He wanted some clue as to what the Kommandant’s condition was. The last time they’d spoken, Klink had been high as a kite. Not that he expected to hear much from the bug; Klink was not generally in the habit of talking to himself or anything, but Hogan would be able to tell if Klink was actually in his office rather than hiding away in his quarters. It would be enough to tide him over. 

He’d been about to turn on the coffee pot, having fully justified himself to himself, when his office door opened to admit Sergeant Carter. He was breathing heavily, as though he’d been running.

“Hochstetter just pulled up,” Carter said, not waiting for Hogan to ask the question. “I was at the gate and saw him come in.”

In the time it took Hogan to glance out the window to confirm this, Carter had been joined in the doorway by LeBeau, Newkirk, and Kinch. Hogan considered them for a moment then decided there was little harm in having them join him. “Come in, if you’re coming in,” he ordered as he switched the bug on. “Don’t just leave the door open.” 

Word going to deed, the door was closed and his men came to stand behind him. Hogan listened to the tinny voices coming from Klink’s office with growing interest, and then growing concern as the conversation between Klink and Hochstetter devolved. He was as stunned as the rest of them when _Schultz_ spoke up and, evidently, physically removed Hochstetter from the office on Klink’s shrill orders. Even now, muffled shouting could be heard coming from the other side of the door.

Carter slapped his knee. “Way to go, boy!—I mean, Kommandant!”

“He told that rotter off right proper,” Newkirk said with approval. “And can you believe Schultzie dragging him out of the room like that?”

“ _C'est pas croyable_. I only wish I could have seen the boche’s face!”

Clearly, Klink’s performance had impressed Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau. Only Kinch remained silent and, when Hogan looked at him, he could see that the radioman was troubled. 

Hogan was glad he wasn’t the only one with misgivings about what he’d just heard. While Hochstetter was a blowhard with a trigger temper, the escalation of the exchange in Klink’s office hadn’t been entirely due to the Gestapo Major. _Klink_ had been the one who’d started antagonizing _Hochstetter_. Generally, Klink handled Gestapo with kid gloves (preferring to have Burkhalter handle the heavy lifting, and shouting!, when possible), yet, he’d just thrown Hochstetter out of his office and threatened him with the cooler. 

It was hard to derive much pleasure from hearing Hochstetter being sent off packing when Klink sounded so much like he had on the day he’d threatened Hogan with a gun: only nominally in control of himself. Even before he’d reached that point, well, it wasn’t like Klink to be so confrontational!

Of course, the phrase ‘like Klink’ was practically meaningless these days. Between his erratic, irrational behavior and the recent displays of hidden depths, Hogan couldn’t confidently state just what was and what wasn’t in character for the Iron Eagle. As he’d told the man himself the other day, Klink had become wildly—dangerously!—unpredictable. He certainly hadn’t done _himself_ any favors by goading Hochstetter—the Gestapo Major already didn’t care for him or his camp all that much. 

Still, maybe Hogan was being too pessimistic. Klink standing up for himself was better than Klink dissolving into a terrified puddle. While he hadn’t exactly handled Hochstetter well, Klink had handled him. This was a sign that Klink could still do his job as Stalag 13’s Kommandant. It should be good news that Klink could still deal with men despite his terror.

And it was good news. Hogan just wished he could convince his gut that what he’d just heard signified anything good about the Kommandant’s mental state.

Finally, Hochstetter emerged from the office building to march to his waiting car, his movements so stiff with rage that he looked like he might shatter himself like Rumpelstiltskin. Once Hochstetter had gotten inside the car and had slammed the door hard enough to ensure it would never close properly again, the driver was off like a shot, barreling out the gates of Stalag 13 like a fox with hounds on its heels. 

Newkirk whistled appreciatively. 

“You can say that again,” Carter said. “Golly, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Hochstetter _that_ mad!”

“His face _was_ a very nice shade of red,” LeBeau remarked.

“Yeah,” Newkirk added. “Looked like his heart was going to pop.” He did not sound particularly concerned over the prospect. 

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Kinch quipped, apparently finding Hochstetter’s impotent fury too much to resist.

Hogan clicked off the coffee pot, thinking. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he couldn’t leave Klink to his own devices any longer. Even if he hadn’t been concerned by Klink’s behavior just now, he’d waited too long as it was to debrief him about what had happened out on Grafweg as it was. However, with everything Klink knew about how the plan had been supposed to go, the debriefing needed to be kept private. “If you fellows wouldn’t mind clearing out of my office, I’ve got things to do.” He looked at Kinch meaningfully for a moment before letting his eyes flick to the other three men. “I’m sure you have things you can be doing, too.” 

The barest twitch of a nod. “You heard the man,” Kinch exclaimed with a grin. “Shoo!” He ushered the men through the door. “I don’t know about you, but this day is too nice to waste,” he went on as he followed them out, his tone maybe too enthusiastic. 

Hogan had to smile. Kinch would keep unauthorized eavesdropping to a minimum. He put on his coat and wasted no time heading out of Barracks Two. While the morning air was cold, as Kinch had indicated, it was shaping up to be a nice day: the sun was bright and warm in a cloudless blue sky. 

Fraulein Hilda and Sergeant Schultz were sharing a chuckle when he stepped into the office but they had quieted immediately when he’d shut the door. Judging by how quickly Hilda’s amused expression hardened when she noticed Hogan’s presence, it was obvious that she was mad at him for one reason or another. He offered her a winning smile anyway, just in case he ruffled feathers could be smoothed over so easily. He doubted it, but he couldn’t know for certain until he tried. “Good morning, Hilda.”

There was no change in her expression as she pointedly set down her pen and stood. She folded her arms across her chest and regarded him almost coolly. “How long have you known?”

Before he had a chance to ask for some clarification, Schultz must have decided that this was his cue to leave. He gave Hogan a pitying look as he walked by him to leave the office building. Apparently, the guard had some idea what Hogan was in for and had chosen to brave the chilly atmosphere outside rather than the suddenly stormy atmosphere of the front office. Hogan was tempted to join him.

“Known about what?” he asked in an easy tone once Schultz had shut the door behind him.

Hilda’s already dark expression darkened further. “About what General Adler did to Colonel Klink.”

And, abruptly, Hogan was reminded of the question he’d kept putting off asking. “How long have _you_ known?”

“No need to sound _that_ surprised.” Hilda sniffed disdainfully. “Did you think that someone who works as closely as I do with the Colonel _wouldn’t_ notice something wrong? I seem to recall telling you I thought something was wrong. Several times.”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t _thought_ about Hilda and what she might know; there just always seemed to be something more pressing to deal with the moments he had. Still, that was no excuse—he’d been given more than enough clues to figure it out had he given the matter more than a passing thought. Not only had Hilda made several accusations against Adler (as she’d said), but, most damning, _Klink_ had accused Hogan of talking to Hilda when Hogan had admitted to knowing about Adler’s blackmail. That alone should have helped him realize that the girl had known more than she should!

He shook his head, feeling incredibly stupid. “I wasn’t thinking at all.” When this admission failed to mollify her, he realized he still needed to give her an answer to the non-rhetorical question she’d asked. 

Unfortunately, Hogan had not devoted any time to coming up with a plausible explanation for knowing what he knew about the Adler situation for anyone who was not Klink. Fortunately, Hogan was good at thinking off the cuff, and a reasonable scenario came to him before Hilda had a chance to ask him her question again. “Schultz told me Klink was a homosexual when he asked for our help Thursday night.” He’d been about to add that, after seeing the Kommandant’s injuries, the rest had been easy to figure out, when Hilda interrupted him.

“Why would Schultz say that?” she asked, her anger displaced by confusion. Then her anger resurfaced. “ _He_ knew what was really going on. Why would he lie about it if he wanted your help?”

There was no mistaking the meaning behind her emphasis: Hogan wasn’t the only one who’d incurred Hilda’s wrath. No wonder Schultz had been in a hurry to leave! Returning to the matter at hand, now that he had confirmation that Schultz actually _had_ known the truth about Adler that night, it put what the guard had chosen to tell them in an interesting light. “Schultz probably thought he had to tell us _something_ to get us to help.” He shrugged. “I guess he figured telling us the Kommandant was a homosexual was safer than telling us the truth.”

Hilda made no obvious effort to hide her skepticism. “Why would that be safer?”

Hogan was almost certain he was correct, but the difficulty was how to explain without saying more than he wanted to. Gut feelings were often difficult to put into words. “What the General did to the Kommandant, it’s hard to know what kind of reaction that sort of news is going to get,” he explained, keeping his tone light and casual even as he recalled, with shame, what his own reaction had been. “Even if you’re not worried about _that_ , the idea of a Gestapo General forcing himself on a Luftwaffe Colonel sounds a bit far-fetched to just spring on someone. On the other hand, the idea of a lifetime bachelor like Colonel Klink being a homosexual, that’s a lot easier to accept.” He smiled wryly. “Given those two scenarios, which one would _you_ be more likely to believe?”

To his surprise, Hilda actually looked guilty. Then she pursed her lips; the guilt replaced with suspicion. “Fine. But I don’t understand what Schultz asked you to help with then.” She wrinkled her nose, perplexed. “I don’t see what _you’d_ be able to do to make the Kommandant _not_ be a homosexual any more.”

Hogan was nonplussed and momentarily speechless as he tried to make sense of Hilda’s bizarre comment. “What are you talking about?” he asked, once he’d failed to make any headway on his own.

She scowled at him as though his confusion was insulting. “You said Schultz asked for your help, and he told you that the Kommandant was a homosexual to get you to help him. Help him with _what_? What exactly did he ask you to help him with!” 

And then Hogan understood. “You don’t know what happened Thursday night.”

“And what happened Thursday night?” Hilda’s tone was dangerously flat. 

It hadn’t occurred to Hogan that she wouldn’t have been told about this, considering how much in the know she’d seemed to be about this Adler mess. Had the information been deliberately hidden from her, or had there simply not been the opportunity for her to be told before now? Either way, it was too late not to keep mum. 

Of course, Hilda didn’t need all the gory details. 

“Adler wanted to have one of us prisoners to, uh, play with, and Colonel Klink wouldn’t allow it.” He smiled, trying to soften the blow. “Suffice to say, Adler wasn’t too happy about that, and he knocked the Kommandant around a bit. Schultz came in to check on him and found him unconscious. I figure Schultz didn’t think getting anyone official involved was a good idea, so he came to us.” Noting the girl’s sudden pallor, he hastened to assure her, “Wilson patched the Iron Eagle right up. He’ll be fine.” 

Hilda was covering her mouth, horrified. “That poor man,” she whispered. Abruptly, she shook her head, anger combining with her horror. “And no one thought to tell me about this? Why didn’t one of you tell me!” 

“When would I have had a chance to tell you about this?” Hogan asked reasonably, giving Schultz a mental apology for throwing him under the bus by implication. Schultz would have done the same in his place, he was sure. “Besides, I had no way of knowing you knew.” Immediately, he knew he’d said too much.

“And you didn’t think to tell me _that_ either,” she returned harshly. “Even after I _told_ you I thought something was wrong, you _still_ kept things from me. Don’t pretend you didn’t have any suspicions at all; you spent hours with the Kommandant on Wednesday. You never cared to spend that much time with him before.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she continued sourly, surprising Hogan again that she’d noticed his surprise. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking out of there?” Evidently not interested in an answer, she went on. “You and Schultz are both the same—neither one of you could have _mentioned_ what you knew? Or what you suspected?” She threw up her hands in disgust. “Naturally not! Better to protect poor little Fraulein Hilda from what’s right in front of her!”

“Maybe it wasn’t about you,” Hogan suggested, keeping his tone calm and non-challenging. At her skeptical glare, he quirked his lips up into a sheepish smile. “Okay, that was part of it. Still, you can’t judge us too harshly for not coming clean sooner.”

“No?”

“No.” Hogan took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he considered how best to explain. “I’m going to be straight with you: I didn’t have the best reaction when I figured out what General Adler was doing to the Kommandant. I thought,” he fiddled with the brim of his hat, “I thought a lot of things about him that I’m not proud of. There was no way of knowing whether or not you’d have the same kind of reaction _I_ did—that the Iron Eagle must have wanted to do what he was doing with Adler.” 

Again, a flash of guilt cut through her anger. While the anger remained, he could sense her resolve to be angry weakening. 

_Just a little more_. He pressed on. “And, if you thought that, too, well, I know what the Reich has to say about homosexuals—I know you don’t agree with _everything_ they say, but I had no way of knowing whether or not you agreed with them about _that_.” 

Hilda glowered at him a moment longer before her expression softened and her posture relaxed. “I guess that makes sense.” Her arms dropped to her sides. “I’m sorry I was angry; it’s just so....”

“Frustrating,” Hogan finished for her. He could sympathize; he did sympathize. But he didn’t think he’d done wrong by keeping the truth from her; there was nothing she could have done. And, while she’d clearly decided she cared about the Kommandant’s welfare, that didn’t necessarily mean she would have taken the news any better than he had.

“Still, I wish _one_ of you had told me,” she said with a sigh, “before I had a chance to do any damage.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, embarrassed. Ashamed. “He was going to kill himself,” she revealed softly. “He was going to kill himself, and it was my fault.”

The former was hardly news, but the latter certainly was. Hogan knew exactly what Klink’s reasoning had been both times he’d threatened to take that step; the idea that Hilda would claim any responsibility for Klink’s plans was ludicrous at best. It was clear, from her shamed expression, that _she_ believed what she was saying, but that didn’t change the fact that it simply wasn’t true. “What makes you say that?”

Hilda took a few moments to collect her thoughts. “I saw them together,” she said, her eyes drifting down to the floor. “I saw them together, and I misunderstood what I was seeing. I’d thought … I’d thought the Colonel and Adler were having some kind of _fling_.” She crossed her arms as though she were cold. “I spoke to him after. I said he had to put a stop to it, that what he was doing wasn’t good for him. I pushed him to end it before he lost himself completely.” She shook her head, still not looking up. “I should have realized what I’d done the moment I saw how defeated he’d looked, but I was too _stupid_ to understand what I was seeing.”

Her reasoning was sound, Hogan decided. She was still wrong, of course, but it hadn’t been an unwarranted conclusion based on what she’d known. “It wasn’t your fault.” Hilda was already shaking her head, but he paid the motion no mind. “Remember what I told you about General Adler wanting a prisoner? The Kommandant didn’t think he’d be able to keep refusing for much longer. He’d thought killing Adler was the only thing he could do to protect us—and once he’d killed Adler, he’d have to die, too.” 

“I had no idea.” Hilda was looking at him now, a cautious hope in her shiny eyes. “So, it wasn’t my fault?”

Hogan shook his head, offering a reassuring smile. “You weren’t the one to plant the idea in his head, believe me.”

While Hilda didn’t return the smile, she no longer seemed so guilt ridden. “I see.” She hugged herself. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“Me too.” At her astonished look, he grinned. “What can I say? Klink the Fink has grown on me.”

She laughed once, loud and clear, before she covered her mouth with one hand and swatted his arm with the other. “You’re terrible.”

Mission accomplished. Not the mission he’d originally come in to accomplish, but it was a good start. “I am,” he agreed, putting on his hat. However, as nice a diversion this could be, it was time to get back to business. “Can I get in to see the Kommandant anyway?”

Grinning herself now, she nodded. “I’ll see if he’ll take you.” She walked over to the door, knocked lightly, then poked her head inside Klink’s office. Almost immediately, she poked her head back out and closed the door. “He’s on the telephone now, but you could come back later.”

Too bad he’d given Baker the day off. Well, if Klink’s telephone call was a game changer, he’d hear about it sooner rather than later. “I think I might just do that.” Then, deciding he ought to get her opinion since she’d been so perceptive before, he asked: “How’s the Kommandant doing, really?”

Hilda bit her lip, her earlier good cheer leaving her. “He seems.... He seems calmer,” she said slowly, each word spoken with careful consideration. “Not as nervous.” She nodded, as though trying to reassure herself that this was so. “I think he’s doing better than he was.”

Hogan was clever enough to understand what she wasn’t saying. She wasn’t saying that he was back to normal or even that he was doing well—just that he was doing better than he had been. Which was an awfully low bar to step over. “That’s good to hear. I’ll be back.”

She returned to her desk. “I’ll be here,” she said, picking up a pen. Within moments, she was absorbed with the papers she was working on. 

Even if there had been more to discuss, there would be no talking to her now. He walked out of the office building and spied Schultz standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring out into the compound. Hogan stopped to stand beside him. “It’s safe to go back in now,” he said brightly.

The guard jumped a bit, startled. Then he frowned down at Hogan. “Jolly joker,” he complained. His frown softened, his mouth forming a contemplative line. “She was very angry with me, too.”

“Oh?” Hogan sank his hands into his coat pockets. “What’d _you_ do to make her angry?”

“As though you don’t know,” Schultz returned, sounding a bit insulted. He sighed. “I kept the truth from her, too.” His shoulders sagged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. I don’t know. I didn’t think it was my place to say.”

That reminded Hogan of the other question he’d wanted to ask but never had gotten around to asking. They were fairly isolated here this early in the morning, and it was impossible for anyone to sneak up behind them in their current location. It was safe enough. “When did you find out the truth?”

Schultz looked around him. Apparently having come to the same conclusion Hogan had, he leaned down to whisper in Hogan’s ear. 

“Fraulein Hilda came to me Thursday morning, saying she thought,” he hesitated, “the _Eagle_ had done something to _You-now-who_. I didn’t think much of it at first but then I thought about Sergeant Jackson.” He paused. “Did the Kommandant tell you about that?”

“It came up. I know what the Eagle tried to do.” While Hogan thought it’d be safe enough to name names, Schultz clearly didn’t share his opinion. Since he wanted the guard to talk, he figured he ought to follow suit. 

“I had some suspicions, but,” an uncomfortable laugh, “that is a very serious accusation to make without evidence. Not that I’d want to make an accusation even if I’d _had_ any evidence,” he went on, his tone becoming dark and cynical. “I know who would be in the most trouble if I did that.” Another pause. “I didn’t want to get involved, but she insisted she’d find evidence that something was happening. She was so determined, the only thing I could do was tell her to come to _me_ before going to the authorities.

“Later that day, she came to me and told me she’d seen them together. She thought you-know-who was just a homosexual with bad taste. I realized the truth then, but I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t think it was my place to say. And I was worried that she might try to turn in the Eagle—that wouldn’t have turned out well for You-know-who.”

Hogan wasn’t quite as astonished as he’d have been a week ago to have completely misunderstood Schultz’s motives for keeping his silence about the truth with Hilda. He’d become a bit too complacent about his understanding of the men in this camp, it seemed. Reevaluations would have to be made, but now wasn’t the time to make them. “You’re probably right about that.”

Silence stretched between them for nearly half a minute. Then Schultz broke it. “When did _you_ find out?” There was a definite challenge in the guard’s tone.

Hogan had to marvel at that. Luckily, he had the perfect answer to provide. “You told me.”

“What?” Schultz sounded taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“When you said what you said to Wilson and me,” Hogan elaborated, pleased that the same lie he’d told Hilda would work for Schultz, too. It was easier to keep track of that way. 

“I didn’t tell you that much!” Schultz argued, the force of his whisper sending out a spray of spittle. 

Hogan wiped off his cheek without comment; he supposed he deserved it for the whopper he was about to tell. “You didn’t need to. Not with all the work Wilson had to do! It was pretty obvious after seeing that: even if I bought he was what you said he was, _You-know-who_ never struck me as being _that_ much of a masochist.”

The guard had stepped back to look at him askance, but whatever Schultz had been planning to say went unsaid as a car rolled to a stop in front of the office building where Hochstetter’s car had been. Visitors were somewhat unusual this time of morning, but the car itself was more unusual for this camp than it’s time of arrival.

The older model Maybach was painted goldenrod yellow with green trim, marking it as a civilian vehicle—cars pressed into military service in Germany tended not to be so colorful, and fancy cars like this one also tended to be adored with tiny Nazi flags (which were not present here). Before Hogan had much time to wonder what business a civilian would have at a POW camp, the driver opened the door and stepped out into view. The coat and hat the old man was wearing marked _him_ as a Gestapo General. 

Hogan and Schultz traded disbelieving looks before the latter hurried over to greet Stalag 13’s latest visitor and the former walked back to Barracks Two as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. 

Kinch was waiting for him at the door, looking as dismayed as Hogan felt. “ _Another_ Gestapo general?”

Not wasting time belaboring the obvious, Hogan took hold of Kinch’s arm and led him to his office. He had a bad feeling about this—to put it mildly!, and he wanted to have some back-up with him. A voice of reason to keep him from doing something he’d regret. 

For his part, Kinch allowed himself to be pulled along and didn’t speak until they were safely behind closed doors. Once Hogan had released his arm, he frowned. “What do we do, sir?”

While Hogan wanted nothing more than to go in now, he knew better. If Klink found himself in way over his head, Hogan would got in, but he couldn’t do so to begin with—he’d just be ordered away. “We wait,” he said, clicking on the coffee pot, “and listen.” He sat down at his desk and gestured for Kinch to sit on the bunk. 

At Kinch’s mute look of concern, he half-shrugged. “He handled Hochstetter,” _badly_. “We’ll give him a chance to handle this, too.” As he listened to an audibly worried Klink being informed of his latest visitor, he hoped that _this_ Gestapo General—Vogel—wasn’t here to cause problems, for Vogel’s sake. Because, if Vogel _was_ here to cause problems, Hogan wouldn’t hesitate to make sure he regretted it. 

He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.


	80. The Bird is Landing

It had taken close to ten minutes for Klink to stop trembling. The actual terror and panic had faded quickly, but the after affects of all that adrenaline lingered. Fraulein Hilda had poked her head in after the shouting outside his door had ceased, asking him if he was all right. He’d told her that he was, that all he needed was some time. It hadn’t been a _complete_ lie. 

While he’d managed to send Hochstetter on his way, he knew he hadn’t handled the man well. He’d been too confrontational; he could see that now. Hochstetter’s presence had shaken him from the start, but Klink had known he couldn’t afford to show fear. So, he’d been antagonistic to hide it. However, Hochstetter was not a man it was a good idea to be antagonistic with. Hochstetter had a temper of his own that he did not have good control over—a fact Klink had known but had not remembered in time.

Thank God Schultz had been there to rein Hochstetter in: Klink had been moments away from complete mindless panic, and he probably would have given the Major quite a show had Schultz not chosen that moment to step in and speak up. 

Klink put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. At least _that_ was over with.

The telephone rang.

Startled, it took him a few fumbling seconds to actually grab hold of the receiver. He brought it up to his ear and took a moment to collect himself before he spoke. “Hello?”

A pause that was just long enough for Klink to realize he should have identified himself. “Am I speaking with Colonel Klink?”

“Ah, yes, this—this is he,” Klink said quickly. He thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn’t quite place from where. “Who is this?”

“ _This_ is Colonel Schmidt,” Schmidt said, sounding faintly amused. “I suppose I’m just not that memorable.” Before Klink could offer a response, Schmidt continued on, “I called to inform you that I’m sending Lieutenant Ziegler and Captain Bauer to pick up General Adler’s staff car from your camp.” A short pause. “If that’s agreeable to you.”

Now, Klink was doubly glad he’d forced Hochstetter to leave empty-handed! “Oh, of course, it’s all yours.” He heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see Fraulein Hilda poking her head in. Her eyes flicked to the telephone receiver in his hand before she closed the door. No doubt she’d come to see if the report she’d given him was completed. He was not looking forward to disappointing her. Even before the confrontation with Hochstetter, he hadn’t been able to make much headway. Afterwards, his hands had been shaking too badly for him to attempt writing.

“Colonel?” Schmidt’s voice sounded a bit impatient, and Klink realized he’d said something.

Klink took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry. What, what did you say?”

“I said you should expect them to show around noon,” Schmidt repeated, the earlier impatience replaced by bland neutrality. “They’ll have signed orders from me to prove they are on my business. I trust that’s acceptable.”

Although Klink was not looking forward to dealing with any more Gestapo today, at least he wouldn’t have to do more than check their orders and direct them to the motor pool. “That’s fine.” 

A short pause. “Has anyone come to see you about General Adler?”

“Major Hochstetter came by this morning,” Klink reported dutifully, feeling not even a twinge of guilt for possibly getting the Gestapo Major in trouble. “He claimed you had sent _him_ to collect Adler’s things.” When Schmidt made no immediate response, Klink hastened to add, “I sent him off with nothing, of course.”

“Of course,” Schmidt echoed distantly. “Has anyone _else_ come to see you? About the General?”

Klink felt himself frown. “No, Colonel. Do you... Do you think someone will?”

A long silence. “Perhaps,” Schmidt said finally. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if anyone does.”

“Certainly.” Klink saw no reason not to agree to that. If it turned out that sharing such information with Schmidt wasn’t a good idea, well, to borrow an expression, what Schmidt didn’t know couldn’t hurt Klink!

“Thank you, Colonel,” Schmidt said, pleased. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler,” Klink echoed, hoping that the Gestapo Colonel hadn’t heard the sudden weariness in his tone. All things considered, he wasn’t feeling particularly patriotic at the moment. He hung the receiver up with a sigh.

He wasn’t especially looking forward to dealing with the men Schmidt was sending, but he was unabashedly relieved that Schmidt wasn’t coming himself. While Schmidt had treated him kindly—as kindly as a Gestapo officer could—, Klink didn’t trust Schmidt much more than he trusted Hochstetter. Schmidt and Hochstetter had their own agendas, and the only difference between them was that Schmidt’s purposes required Klink to be amenable to helping him. Schmidt, like Adler, had merely found a use for Klink.

There would no doubt come a time when Klink outlasted his usefulness. 

Klink forced the thought away as best as he was able. He was being paranoid again. In all likelihood, once Schmidt got what he’d wanted, Klink would just be left alone—to a man like Schmidt, a man like Klink was not worth the bother of doing away with. Schmidt had basically said as much when he’d told Klink to keep the Adler matter to himself.

In any event, at least it would be several more hours before he had to worry about dealing with another member of the Gestapo!

A soft knock on the door announced the return of Fraulein Hilda. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. Her nervous expression immediately set Klink on edge since she’d seemed to be making an effort to be cheerful every time she’d come in here this morning. “Sir,” she said quietly, “there’s a General Vogel here to see you.” She bit her lip. “He’s Gestapo.”

In involuntary shudder went through him. “Did—did he say what he’s here for?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.” A hesitation, then: “He doesn’t look like he’s in good health.”

Klink wondered if that was supposed to make him feel better about dealing with this new Gestapo general. It didn’t. He considered the problem. On one hand, he didn’t feel up to another confrontation with another member of the Gestapo. On the other hand, the man was a General, not a Major like Hochstetter—Klink could not simply order him away. Once again, his options seemed limited.

“Have Schultz bring him in,” he said, trying to hide how defeated he felt.

Hilda nodded, her sad and concerned expression telling him that he’d failed. “Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later, the Gestapo General entered the room flanked by Sergeant Schultz. As Hilda had indicated, General Vogel looked decidedly unhale. His face was drawn and sallow, his eyes were red-rimmed with deep circles beneath them. The man was older than Klink, but it was difficult to tell if it was age or stress than made Vogel look so haggard. His uniform fit poorly, making the man inside it appear that much smaller and frailer standing next to Schultz.

Klink stood and saluted. And waited. “General Vogel?”

Vogel blinked at him, as though confused, before returning the salute. “Uh, right, Colonel Klink,” he said, sounding amazingly uncertain for a Gestapo officer. “I was hoping to speak with you in private.” 

As a General, Vogel could easily make this an order should Klink refuse. So, there was no question of Klink agreeing to speak in private. He felt a bit nervous about the prospect, but not as fearful as he’d expected. Maybe Vogel’s haggard and worn appearance made him seem less threatening. Or maybe it was knowing that, should Vogel try attacking him, fear of having to explain what what was happening to his ‘underlings’ should he scream for help would no longer keep him silent. “Very well, General.” He looked to Schultz and tried to smile. “You may go, Sergeant.”

While Schultz was clearly uncertain and unhappy, he made no argument. “Yes, sir.” 

Once the door had shut behind the guard, Vogel approached the desk with a clear sense of purpose, a steely determination in his eyes. For a moment, it was difficult for Klink to remember his earlier comfort of knowing that help was only an unlocked door away. Vogel stopped in front of the desk and gave Klink a searching look. “You’re not what I expected.”

Klink blinked, the non-sequitur breaking through his sudden attack of nerves. “I-I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Vogel shook his head, his expression apologetic. “Excuse me. I only meant I’m surprised that you’re so much older.”

This explanation wasn’t one. Klink decided he didn’t want an explanation of the comment after all. “General Vogel, why are you here?” Then a truly awful thought occurred to him. “Are you here about my paperwork?” So certain he was that this was the reason, he hastened to explain himself before Vogel had a chance to confirm it. “I know. I know I’m about a week behind, but I’ve got it all here!” He gestured to the stack on his desk, hoping that Vogel wouldn’t examine them and discover his lie. “All in triplicate!” 

Vogel raised an eyebrow before shaking his head again. “No, no. I’m not here about your paperwork. I’m here on my own business.”

Klink’s throat tightened, but he did his best to keep his rekindled nervousness out of his voice. “And, ah, what, what business would that be?”

Vogel narrowed his eyes with what looked like concern. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.” 

“I’m fine,” Klink said. “I’m fine,” he repeated when Vogel only continued to stare. He went on quickly. “But, what are you here for, General?”

“I’m here to talk to you.” Vogel closed his eyes briefly. “I’m not a General, and my name is not Vogel.” He stood up straighter, his body exuding a strength it hadn’t appeared to have moments ago, and looked Klink directly in his widened eyes.” My name is Albert Adler, Josef’s father, and I want you to tell me what happened to him.”

Klink couldn’t find his voice for several long seconds. The last person in the world he’d ever expected to meet. The last person he’d ever _wanted_ to meet. “I … I see,” he said stupidly.

Vogel—Adler—Albert—Herr Adler was looking at him expectantly. When Klink couldn’t think of anything more to say soon enough, Herr Adler sighed. “I realize it was a loss for you, too.” He reached across the desk to rest a hand on Klink’s arm. “He is... He _was_ fond of you.”

The declaration neatly distracted Klink from the weight of Herr Adler’s hand on his arm. So many questions clamored to be spoken, but he was only able to give voice to a single word. “What?”

“Josef was fond of you,” he repeated, squeezing Klink’s arm gently. “He told me about you—he was so excited about your coming to Berlin.” He smiled sadly. “He was looking forward to introducing you to me.”

Klink could only stare for what seemed like a very long time. “He... He _told_ you about, about what he _did_ to me?”

Herr Adler coughed, embarrassed. “Well, not in so many _words_ , Colonel.” His hand came away to return to his side. “There’s only so much that’s safe to say over the telephone. Unfriendly ears are everywhere.” He shook his head and, when he spoke again, his voice was choked with emotion. “I was so happy that he’d finally, _finally_ , found someone who returned his affections.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think of stopping them. “It wasn’t like that!”

The older man’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean?”

There were so many things Klink wanted to say. He wanted to deny that he’d held _any_ affection for that monster. He wanted to say that, if Adler had felt any affection for _him_ , it was the same sort of ‘affection’ a magpie felt for a shiny bauble—just another item for his collection. He wanted to scream at this foolish old man who had helped birth the beast that had upended his life. He wanted to explain in the bluntest terms possible exactly what Herr Adler’s precious son had put him through. 

But he couldn’t. Perhaps Albert Adler did not deserve that kindness; perhaps he already knew what kind of monster he’d sired, and he didn’t care. However, it was less about the elder Adler than it was about the sort of man Klink was. Klink knew he could be petty and vindictive, but he’d never been cruel. He was not going to speak ill of a dead son to a grieving father: he certainly wasn’t going to start shouting.

That being said, he wasn’t about to pretend that Herr Adler’s romantic notions were accurate. He wasn’t going to pretend that what Adler had done to him had been something different than it was. “I was not his lover,” he said slowly, doing his best to keep his anger and hatred from overwhelming the words. “And he certainly did not _love_ me. I was just some kind of,” his throat felt tight as he tried to settle on a word to describe what Adler had thought of him that didn’t reveal more than he wanted to, “some kind of game to him. He didn’t _care_ about me at all.”

Herr Adler looked surprised and a little sad. “Oh, but he did. He thought the world of you.” He smiled in happy remembrance. “This is going to sound strange because he had to tell me in code of sorts, but he thought you might be his _long-term_ solution.” 

His long-term solution. Klink felt his stomach twist. Adler had been planning to take him to Berlin to continue using him; that much had been obvious. Also, he’d evidently told his father about his latest “lover”. But, apparently, there had been even more to Adler’s plans. What had Herr Adler said before? Adler had wanted his father to meet him? Adler had wanted to introduce Klink to his father as … as _what_? One didn’t introduce lovers to one’s parents! “I-I don’t understand.” 

A wry smile. “I know, I know, people like yourself tend to remain unattached, but I was happy to hear that Josef was thinking of settling down.”

_Settling down?_ Suddenly, all of the games made horrible, horrible sense. It was all Klink could do not to vomit. He swallowed down bile desperately. 

Seemingly oblivious to the struggle going on in front of him, Herr Adler continued on blithely, “I think all he needed was a steady, long-term relationship to ground him.” His gaze turned misty. “I suppose now we’ll never know.” He shook his head, then refocused his attention on Klink. He frowned, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Can we … can we talk about something else?” Klink asked quietly, growing ever more certain that the longer they talked about what Adler’s future plans for him had been, the more likely it was that he would vomit. 

Herr Adler looked at him pityingly. “Of course.” Before Klink could react, he’d taken hold of his arm again. “Could you tell me what happened to my son? I know you were there when he was killed.”

The question of how Herr Adler had come by that information was interesting but ultimately unimportant. What was important was sending the elder Adler on his way as soon as possible—before Klink lost his composure. The hold the man had on his arm was not helping in the slightest. “He, he was shot in the head,” he said softly, ignoring the hand on his arm with limited success.

It became harder to ignore as the fingers tightened and as rage colored the older man’s face. “Who did it? Who murdered my son!”

“I-I don’t know,” Klink heard himself whine plaintively as he struggled not to wrest his arm out of that surprisingly strong grip. “They—they were dressed like members of the SS. I, I don’t know who they really were. I didn’t _recognize_ them!”

The rage of before twisted into pain and desperation. “Did he... Did he die well?”

It pained Klink to have to say anything positive about Adler, but he had to admit that the swine had been brave in the face of death. Adler had been a monster, but he hadn’t been a coward. “He was defiant until the end.” 

“That sounds like my Josef.” Herr Adler’s grip tightened briefly before he let go of Klink’s arm. “Thank you.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, then he dabbed away tears. After a few moments, the handkerchief returned to its hiding place. His suddenly cynical smile was at odds with his still watery eyes. “In the end, _they_ couldn’t even keep up _their_ part to protect him from the Gestapo.”

Klink frowned, bewildered by the low and cryptic words. “What are you talking about?”

Several silent seconds of consideration. “For almost a year,” Herr Adler began in a very quiet, very serious, voice, “I’ve been collecting information about Gestapo plans and projects and delivering it to the Allies.”

He didn’t want to know—he was certain he didn’t want to know—but Klink couldn’t convince his curiosity of this in time. “Why would you do that?”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Herr Adler said, his voice rough with anger and guilt. “The Allies found out about Josef, somehow. Either I gathered information for them, or he would be exposed.” His eyes begged for understanding. “There is nothing more important to me than the safety of my son, and if I have to betray my old friends to keep him safe, so be it. I couldn’t let Josef be exposed and sent to Saxon’s Houses to be killed with the rest of them. I couldn’t!” 

Herr Adler was looking at him expectantly, almost defiantly. Right. After hearing that kind of admission, he had to make a response, didn’t he? As a loyal officer of the Reich, Klink supposed he ought to take a dim view of Herr Adler’s treason, even if it had been committed under duress. As someone who’d been forced to do all sorts of things he’d never wanted to do under duress, he supposed he ought to feel some empathy towards Herr Adler’s plight. Maybe he even ought to find Herr Adler’s actions noble in a way—if blood was thicker than water, then duty to one’s family ought to override duty to one’s state.

Klink didn’t feel any of those things. Instead, he felt almost apathetic in the face of Herr Adler’s confession. It was difficult for him to feel much sympathy for either party involved. After what he’d been put through by the Gestapo _and_ Herr Adler’s son, Klink didn’t care to lay down condemnation on _or_ grant absolution to Herr Adler for the choice he’d made. If that was even what Herr Adler wanted from him.

But he did have to say _something_. “I see.”

Herr Adler gawped at him for a moment, clearly having expected a bigger reaction. Then he shook his head. “The Allies promised me they’d keep him safe as long as I gave them information.” A bitter chuckle. “At least the Devil would have kept his end of the bargain if I’d sold _him_ my soul.” He sat down in the chair, bonelessly, as though standing had just become too difficult an effort.

Klink followed suit, feeling unbalanced himself. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with anything like _this_ today. Things were never dull at Stalag 13, but this morning seemed busy even by _that_ standard. So, when the silence stretched between them, Herr Adler evidently content to keep his thoughts to himself, Klink was grateful for the opportunity to absorb the information he’d just been given. 

He had to appreciate the utter irony of it all. His blackmailer’s father had been blackmailed to save his blackmailer from the fate his blackmailer had promised _him_ if _he_ didn’t comply with his blackmailer’s blackmail. Then add to that the fact that, had Hogan’s plan _gone_ to plan, then Adler would have been delivered into the hands of his father’s blackmailers. It was nearly unbelievable. 

It also struck Klink as somewhat amusing that Herr Adler would be so dramatic about his son’s chances of survival at Sachsenhausen. As far as Klink understood, it housed mostly political prisoners or those whom the Reich no longer trusted, like Jews and gypsies. While it still pained Klink to think of the swine in any kind of positive way, he doubted Adler would have found prison life there too difficult to survive. Someone as strong as Adler would no doubt have taken over the place before too long.

Herr Adler sighed, drawing Klink’s attention back to him. “Do you have children of your own, Colonel?” he asked, his tone brittle with false brightness. 

“No,” Klink said, shaking his head. Then honesty forced him to add, “None that I know of.”

A humorless chuckle. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He looked at Klink with mournful eyes. “It’s a hard thing for a parent to outlive a child.” His gaze fell to the floor. “It’s a hard thing for a man to lose his legacy.” He stood, his weary expression palpably sad. “I want to thank you, Colonel. For everything. You made my son’s last days very happy.”

Klink felt distinctly queasy. “Don’t mention it.” 

Herr Adler hesitated. “Are _you_ going to be safe?”

Klink’s brow furrowed. “Yes … is there some reason why I shouldn’t be?”

A wry smile. “From what I understand, men like yourself are _always_ in _some_ danger. Still, you strike me as one who is in control of his desires.” He looked sad again. “Maybe you could have taught my Josef how to temper his.”

Control? Laughter bubbled up in Klink’s throat but he swallowed it down: if he started laughing, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He just wasn’t sure what was more funny: the idea that he had any control of himself, or the idea that he could have taught that swine anything.

Herr Adler continued on, heedless of Klink’s attempts to restrain his hysterics, “Do you think you’re in danger from the Gestapo?”

This was almost amusing, too, in a way, to be shown so much concern by the father of his blackmailer. Only ‘almost’ because Klink was only too aware that the reason behind Herr Adler’s concern was the belief that Klink was his son’s … something more than a lover. Actually, it wasn’t amusing at all. The urge to laugh died, leaving something sour in its place. He forced himself to smile.“Not in any more danger than anyone usually is.”

This earned him a startled bark of laughter. “I suppose you’re right about that.” He sobered, his face falling. “I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t afford to linger here. Now that Josef is … gone, the Allies have no leverage over me—no further use for me. The Gestapo will be less than pleased to learn of my activities, and they killed my son; I’ll find no safety with them either.” His hands clenched into fists, but his voice remained even. “I’m not going to wait to be killed.”

“I understand,” Klink said, surprised he’d spoken and surprised he’d meant it. He never would have expected he’d have anything in common with Adler’s father! Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Where will you go?”

Herr Adler hesitated, then shrugged. “Switzerland. I have … connections there.” He held his hand out to Klink but did not approach the desk. “I wish the circumstances were different, but it was nice to meet you, Colonel Klink.”

Klink stared at the hand uneasily for a moment, then he stood and came around to the front of the desk. In spite of himself, despite knowing what sort of monster Adler had been, he felt a certain amount of sympathy towards Herr Adler for losing his son. Also, while Herr Adler’s concern for his welfare was based on a _hideous_ mischaracterization of what Adler had put him through, the man had still shown him that concern. Most importantly, though, he was fairly certain that shaking the proffered hand would be the quickest way to get Herr Adler out of his office. _Just give him what he wants. Just give him what he wants and he’ll leave._

It wasn’t until after he’d come around the desk that he realized just where and when he’d had this very same thought before: here in this same office after the first time Adler had … collected on their deal. 

He felt the blood draining from his face and sweat collecting his palms as the memories imposed themselves on him once again. He shook his head sharply. Not now. Not now. He couldn’t do this now. He could fall apart _after_ Herr Adler walked out the door. And _that_ had to happen sooner rather than later, because Klink wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself together. He wiped the slick palm on his pant leg before taking Herr Adler’s hand in his to be tightly squeezed.

If Klink had been thinking at all, what came next would not have been a surprise. After all, the man thought Klink was his son’s ‘long term solution’—someone his son had cared for, someone who’d cared for his son. However, Klink had been too busy trying not to tear his hand out of the older man’s grasp to think and so didn’t realize Herr Adler’s intention until it was far too late to do anything about it. One moment, Herr Adler had been shaking his hand; the next, Herr Adler had his arms wrapped around Klink’s torso, trapping him in a surprisingly solid embrace. 

Klink’s breath caught in his throat, both from the unexpected, unwelcome contact as well as from having his back wounds so suddenly compressed. Pain and panic held him rigidly frozen in the older man’s hold as he waited for the embrace to end. Praying that all Herr Adler had in mind was an embrace.

Mercifully, he was freed within moments. Klink opened his eyes, finding himself staring back at a worried and confused Herr Adler. 

“What’s the matter? I didn’t mean any offense.”

Despite his efforts, Klink was certain the expression he’d twisted his mouth into looked nothing like a smile. “N-nothing,” he denied. “It-it’s fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Herr Adler returned, suspicious. “What’s the matter?”

What to say? What to say? What kind of innocent explanation _was_ there for panicking just because he’d been hugged? A traumatizing childhood experience wrestling a wild bear! No. “Nothing,” he repeated, lacking anything more intelligent to say.

If the continued narrowed-eyed scrutiny he was receiving was any indication, Herr Adler still didn’t believe him. Then the older man’s eyes widened, and he peered at Klink’s chest. No. At his _neck_. “Colonel,” he asked with quiet reluctance, “what happened to your neck?”

Klink’s hands flew up to his neck, and he realized with horror that the scarf had come loose enough to reveal what he’d wanted to keep hidden. “I, ah, I don’t think I should tell you that.” 

“Please, tell me,” Herr Adler insisted.

“You don’t want me to do that,” Klink returned in as firm a tone as he could manage. It wasn’t terribly firm—this encounter had drained his meager reserves and then some. Panic was beginning to overwhelm him, and if he couldn’t end this encounter soon, he was liable to reveal more to Herr Adler than he wanted to. He reminded himself fiercely that the last person he wanted to discuss Adler’s crimes with was Adler’s grieving father.

“I _do_ actually.” Herr Adler sounded like he was nearing the end of his patience. He took a step forward, forcing Klink to take a step back. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” Klink was aware that his panic was now plain in his voice, but he was in no condition to rein it in. “Nothing you want to know!” His backside hit the desk, stopping the progress he hadn’t realized he was making. Short, harsh breaths tore through his throat, but he barely noticed how lightheaded he was getting. It was difficult to focus on the here and now when the there and then of his memories were overtaking his thoughts.

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to look for myself.” Herr Adler came even closer, his hard expression making him look so much like his son that Klink couldn’t help but see the younger Adler in his stead. The faint rational voice insisting that Herr Adler had _not_ suddenly become his son was all but drowned out by Klink’s terror. 

Adler stopped just short of pinning Klink to the desk, his mouth set into a dangerous line.

“Please don’t,” Klink begged, no longer certain what he was begging Adler not to do. Even as the words came out of his mouth, he cringed. He knew better than trying to beg—Adler always made him pay dearly for saying ‘no’. The only question was how Adler would make him pay for his defiance this time.

Adler’s hands reached out for him, and Klink shrank back as much as he was able, tightly closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see just how Adler would make him pay for his pathetic resistance. Or, worse, if said resistance had amused Adler, he didn’t want to see how the swine would show his appreciation.

His scarf was gently pulled off his neck, then his tie was loosened and removed. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, leaving his throat bare. Cool, trembling fingers traced a line around his neck, where the bruises were. The fingers came away after making the trek once, and Klink braced himself for whatever might be coming next.

“Colonel?” The voice wasn’t Adler’s voice—Adler’s voice had never held this particular note of worried guilt. “Please, open your eyes.”

It was a struggle, but Klink was finally able to do so, fear of what would happen if he didn’t only just winning an edge over the fear of what he’d see when he did.

Herr Adler was examining him with concern, confusion, and contrition. “I didn’t realize you were so skittish. I didn’t mean to, ah, startle you.”

If only he’d been merely startled! Klink’s mouth was too dry and his breaths were still coming too quickly for him to say anything. Not that he had anything _to_ say. 

“You look like someone tried to strangle you,” Herr Adler continued, apparently noticing that Klink was in no hurry to say anything of his own accord.

The question that Herr Adler hadn’t asked was obvious, but Klink had no answer he wanted to give. In the time he spent forcing enough moisture back into his mouth to speak, he struggled to calm his thoughts enough to come up with an innocent, non-revealing explanation for the bruises on his neck. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as such an explanation failed to materialize. 

“Colonel?”

He couldn’t do it. He just didn’t have the wits about him now to come up with a convincing lie—not that his lies were ever all that convincing...

“Wilhelm? Can you hear me?”

Bile burned the back of his throat, even as his fists clenched. Herr Adler’s unearned familiarity was loathsome considering what his son had put him through, yes, but he didn’t know why he was suddenly so angry—he’d suffered through far more serious indignities than _that_. He _was_ angry though. Rage simmered in his chest, and he knew that it wouldn’t take much for it to boil over. Although a part of him welcomed the anger after the terror of before, he understood what a mistake it would be to give into it now. 

Losing his temper would mean a confrontation. A confrontation would mean having a conversation with Adler’s father that Klink had no desire to have. So, he had to remain calm. Or, at least, he had to be able to keep his true feelings hidden. Even after he trusted himself to speak, the words came out low and furious. “Don’t call me _Wilhelm_.”

Herr Adler blinked, stunned into silence. “You must be even more old fashioned than I am,” he said at last, sounding somewhat amused by the notion. “But, surely, after how well you got to know my son, there’s no need to be so formal.”

Klink could recall Adler saying something along these lines as well. The powerlessness he’d felt then added fuel to the rage he was barely containing now. “I don’t care. I don’t want you to call me Wilhelm. You don’t have the right.”

“All right, Colonel,” Herr Adler agreed in a slow, uncertain tone, as though Klink’s behavior had finally progressed into the realm of complete incomprehensibility. His expression was an interesting mix of distress and determination. “But what happened to you? I think you owe me an explanation, with the way you’re acting.”

“I _owe_ you an explanation?” Klink asked, his control nearing the breaking point. 

“Yes!” Herr Adler exclaimed, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

And that was it. Like a stone thrown through a window pane, the floodgates shattered, allowing everything he’d been holding in to come streaming out. “You want an explanation? Fine! I’ll tell you what happened to me. Your _son_ happened to me,” Klink spat, unwilling (and unable at this point) to moderate his tone. “These,” he pointed at his neck, “aren’t even the worst of what he did to me.”

Herr Adler’s face flooded with angry color, but his voice was filled with trepidation. “What are you saying?”

“Your son was a monster,” Klink growled, nearly not recognizing his own voice. “I would have killed him myself if someone else hadn’t killed him f—”

The elder Adler’s punch to Klink’s stomach didn’t have the power behind it that the younger Adler’s had had, but it was enough to knock the wind out of Klink and send him to his knees. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Herr Adler said, dark promise coloring his tone, “But I’ll make sure you regret it!”

Klink spent a few moments trying to convince his body that breathing ought to come naturally by now before his mind registered Herr Adler’s words. Even the suffocating feeling that came with breathing only half as much as he needed to and the pain of having his already bruised stomach slammed again were not enough to defuse Klink’s fury. “Y-you can … you can hit me as many, as many times as … as you _like_ ,” he snarled through panting breaths, “but it won’t … change _anything_. It won’t, it won’t change the truth!”

“And what _truth_ is _that_?” came a furious demand from above.

“Your son forced himself on me,” Klink bit out, still finding it difficult to take a deep enough breath to do the shouting he _wanted_ to do. The part of him not busy saying the things he’d kept himself from saying before hoped that Herr Adler would not decide to kick him for his candor.“And he didn’t want me in Berlin to be his, his _husband_ —”,even in his fury, the thought of pretending to play father-mother-child with Adler made his stomach lurch, “he only wanted a _toy_ to play with.”

“You’re lying! Josef would _never_ do that!” The shout was angry, yes, but there was no mistaking the desperation and dread in the words.

Herr Adler.. Herr Adler was _afraid_ , afraid that he was wrong about his son. He was afraid that his son, his dead son, was the sort of man Klink had described.

That understanding robbed Klink’s anger of it’s momentum, leaving something like guilt behind as the anger itself dissolved away. He wrapped his arms around his aching stomach, cursing himself for his lack of control. He really couldn’t do anything right, could he? He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with this man, but it was far too late to take the words back. And, after being so blunt and so cruel, he supposed he actually _did_ owe Herr Adler an explanation now. Not that Herr Adler was going to like it very much.

He licked dry lips as he tried to think of how to begin. “He blackmailed me,” he explained to the floor, his constricted throat making the words barely louder than a murmur. “He-he threatened to throw me to the Gestapo unless I … unless I agreed to let him _use_ my body. He said,” Klink trembled, hearing Adler speaking the words as he relayed them, “he said he could just take what he wanted, but he-he didn’t want to _have_ to take it. He wanted me to—he told me to accept him, submit to him, and he wouldn’t hurt me.” Even as he laughed, tears rolled down his cheeks. “Your son couldn’t keep his promises either.”

“You’re lying,” Herr Adler repeated.

Klink’s hold on himself tightened. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything different. Apparently, he and Herr Adler had another thing in common: a propensity towards denial. “Believe what you like,” he said, unable to hide his bitterness. “I didn’t ask you to come to _my_ camp and poke your nose into _my_ affairs. But I’m asking you to leave. _Now_.”

Silence. Then: “Why didn’t you make these, these accusations before?”

Why did Herr Adler sound so confused? Wasn’t the answer to his question obvious? Apparently not. He sighed. “It’s in poor taste to speak ill of the dead with their grieving relatives,” he explained, his tone calm only because he was finding it increasingly difficult to feel _anything_. “You didn’t do anything to me. Why should I want to be this cruel to you?”

“I don’t know,” Herr Adler said after a moment. “I don’t know why you should.” A hand settled on Klink’s shoulder, and Klink felt too drained to even flinch. “This isn’t … this isn’t the first time someone has tried to tell me something like this,” he confessed, his words wrapped in a sort of resigned sadness. “I couldn’t believe it—they couldn’t be talking about _my_ boy. They had to be lying. They had to.” His hold on Klink’s shoulder tightened. “I... It’s difficult to accept that the boy I raised is the man who—is the same man you were talking about.”

The near admission startled Klink, breaking through his apathy, and he craned his neck to look up at the other man. 

Herr Adler’s face was wet. “You didn’t want to tell me,” he explained, not waiting for Klink to ask the question. He took the handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “You _wouldn’t_ have told me if I hadn’t forced the issue. You would have let me walk out that door knowing no more than I did when I came in.” He bowed his head, silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with shame. “You had no reason to lie to me. It’s too late for you to have expected payment for, for taking advantage of my son.”

His hand came off of Klink’s shoulder. “Can you stand?”

It took Klink a moment to register the question with everything else he had to process. When he did, he took stock of himself. The kneeling position he’d taken after Herr Adler’s attack of temper had done nothing good for his backside or his knees and his middle hurt quite a bit, but he thought he could pull himself up. It was either that or ask Herr Adler to help and, well, despite Herr Adler’s now consolatory attitude, Klink didn’t want the man to touch him again. “Yes.”

It took some doing, but, after what felt like entirely too much time and too much effort, Klink was back on his feet. He swayed where he stood. 

“Are you all right?”

Klink shook his head, not even having the energy to lie. He needed to sit down before he fell down. He considered the chair next to Herr Adler before deciding to risk traveling the extra distance to his chair behind the desk—the more space between them, the better, as far as Klink was concerned. Keeping one hand on the desk, he carefully made his way back to his chair. He sat down gingerly, to spare himself further pain, and took a moment to make certain he was prepared to deal with the man in front of him. He wasn’t yet. Seeing his tie and scarf on the desktop, he set to making himself presentable again. Once this was accomplished, he felt as ready as it was possible for him to feel.

When he looked up, he saw that Herr Adler was giving him an almost sheepish look. “I’m... I shouldn’t have punched you.” The words weren’t an apology, but the contrition was plain.

“I would have preferred it that way,” Klink stated without thinking. 

Herr Adler half-smiled before his mouth thinned into an unhappy line. “I’m sorry, Colonel. For everything.” He took a deep breath, and Klink noticed his eyes were welling with tears once again. “In the unlikely event I survive this war, I’ll make this up to you somehow.”

In many ways, this apology was worth less than Schmidt’s. And the idea that something like this _could_ be made up somehow... Klink shook his head. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said, striving not to sound too unkind about it: although the apology was worthless to him, it had clearly cost Herr Adler a lot to give. “Even if I did, I’m not … I’m not the only one your son,” he found it difficult to sum up what Adler had done to him, Richter, and God knew how many others in a single word, “hurt.” 

“I know that,” Herr Adler said sharply. Then his shoulders drooped. “I know it’s too little too late, but it’s all I can do.” He pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and approached the desk. Klink couldn’t stop himself from shying away as Herr Adler took Klink’s pen before leaning over the desk to write something on the cover of the matchbook. Apparently satisfied with whatever he’d written, he set both the pen and the matchbook in front of Klink before stepping back. “If I make it to my destination, that’s how I can be reached.” He raised a hand. “I know you said you don’t want anything from me, but, if you change your mind, I’d like to know.” He bit his lip. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I … thank you for your patience.”

Without waiting for a response (which Klink was in no condition to make), he turned on his heel and slowly made his way out of the room. 

Klink watched the other man’s slow progress dully. Then he set his elbows on the desktop and cradled his forehead in his hands. He heard the door open and shut, signaling Herr Adler’s departure from his office, but he didn’t react to it. He felt weary in a way that had nothing to do with a physical need for sleep. Even from beyond the grave, Adler could hurt him and find new people to hurt. He wondered vaguely whether or not Adler would have been capable of feeling the guilt Klink couldn’t stop himself from feeling for putting his father through all this.

The door opened and closed again, and he knew, without looking up, that his latest guests were Sergeant Schultz and Fraulein Hilda. This guess was confirmed a moment later.

“Sir?” Hilda asked first. “Are you all right?”

“Did that General do something to you?” Schultz demanded, coming in a close second. 

He bit back a sigh. Klink appreciated their concern—even though he didn’t deserve said concern, he still appreciated it—but he had no desire to talk about what had just happened. So, he wouldn’t. “I’m fine,” he lied, staring down at the unfinished requisition summary report pinned beneath his elbows. When only silence greeted the words, he tried again. “Nothing happened.” He knew his lie would be more convincing if he actually lifted his head out of his hands, but he found himself unable to do so. He felt like he was teetering on the edge, and he couldn’t bear to see their faces right now. He was certain that seeing their concern would shatter what little control he had scraped together. 

“Sir,” Hilda said, her tone kind but firm, “you told me you wouldn’t chase us away again. Please, tell us what’s wrong.”

He _had_ said something to that affect, hadn’t he? He’d been pumped full of morphine at the time, but he could remember saying something along those lines to Hilda. Klink didn’t want to talk about Herr Adler and what their conversation had entailed—he didn’t want to _think_ about it—but he didn’t want to start breaking promises either! Well, it hadn’t been a _promise_ but, in principle, it made little difference. Either he was a man of his word or he wasn’t. He wasn’t much of a man anymore, but he’d at least wanted to conduct himself as one. 

What was one more failure on top of all the others? Wet splotches appeared on the report. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, hoping he could say everything he needed to before he started to sob. “He didn’t, he didn’t _do_ anything to me. So, please, let it be.” 

Klink waited, feeling himself tensing in anticipation of an argument. They wouldn’t listen to him. They’d force a confession from him, like Herr Adler had done. It was bad enough that he’d agreed to tell Colonel Hogan everything the American wanted to know; he hadn’t intended to make himself beholden to his subordinates, too! Every new moment of silence was worse than the last, but he was finding it difficult to breathe, let alone speak—his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice.

“Do you have any orders for us, sir?” Schultz asked at last. 

Relief loosened his tense posture and the vice around his heart even as new splotches appeared on the report. Thank God. His guilt at doubting Hilda and Schultz’s loyalty once again was no match for the rush of fondness he felt for them in that moment. He lifted his head and wiped the new tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “Thank you.” His voice sounded thick with emotion, and he took several deep breaths to calm himself. They did not deserve to be made to worry further on his account, and he had things he needed to say—preferably without more tears. It took longer than he would have liked, but finally, he felt in control enough to do what he had to. Only after he was satisfied that this was so, did he look at them.

Both Schultz and Hilda were clearly still worried, more than a little confused, but, thankfully, they were seemingly content to wait for him to address them. 

“There are two Gestapo officers coming from Berlin,” he said, proud that his tone was even and composed despite the swirling emotions inside of him. “A Bauer and a Ziegler on orders from Colonel Schmidt to take General Adler’s things back to Berlin. I don’t want to see them if I don’t have to, Schultz. Sort them out for me.”

“Yessir!” Schultz boomed, saluting. 

Klink returned it, then turned his attention to Hilda. The paperwork had gone well enough when all he’d had to do was sign his name, but he knew that his latest efforts hadn’t been going as well. While Hilda done her best to hide her dismay, he’d noticed her wincing every time he’d given her a completed report after the first one he’d done. He might as well make it simple for both of them—he hadn’t been up to the task before and he certainly didn’t feel up to it now. “Fraulein, please do the reports for me a little longer. I’ll pay you whatever you think is fair.”

She tried (and failed) to hide her relief. “Of course, Kommandant.” She scooped up the stack of unfinished reports and other scattered papers from his desk. “I’ll do them for as long as you’d like.”

He smiled at them both, somewhat amazed he could still manage to form an actual smile rather than a mere smile-like configuration. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.” The smile remained on his face after the door had shut behind Schultz and Hilda. 

But not for long after. There was too much to think about, and none of it warranted a smile. 

* * *

The worst part was that Hilda didn’t see what else they could have done. She set the papers she’d taken from the Kommandant’s desk onto her own before arranging them into some kind of logical order. She wanted to be angry with Schultz for allowing the Colonel to push them away again, but it was difficult to be angry with him when she’d been moments away from doing the same thing herself. It hadn’t been her intention to make the man cry, and the last thing she’d wanted was for him to beg. 

At the same time, she couldn’t help but think that letting him push them away was a mistake. He needed help, and he wasn’t going to ask for it—that much had been made clear. But _she_ didn’t know what to do now. Did _Schultz_ know? Where did they go from here? 

“What are we going to do?” she found herself asking, more to vent her frustration rather than in expectation of a useful answer. Not that she could blame Schultz for not having an answer to give her when she had no answers herself. 

Having not expected an answer, Hilda was startled to receive one. “We do as we’re told.” She turned around in time to see the Sergeant nodding to himself. “If he wants us to stay back, we back away.”

Considering what had just happened in Klink’s office, what this idea amounted to was doing nothing. Doing nothing wasn’t an option anymore—surely, Schultz could see that! “He needs help,” she insisted, incredulous that she should even have to say this. “I’ll admit, I don’t know how to help him yet, but I refuse to just stand by and do nothing. We can’t just ignore him and hope he gets better!” 

Schultz was frowning at her, as though she were being childish. “Of course we’ll try to help him,” he said, sounding exasperated himself, “but we can’t push him.”

“So, we let him push _us_ away?” Schultz opened his mouth, but she interrupted him, deciding to make her point very clear before he tried offering her some hollow platitude, “We let him do that before, and it was almost too late.” Her eyes ached, remembering how frightened she’d been to read that note in her desk, and how painfully relieved she’d been to find that he’d still been alive. “I don’t want to come in some morning and find out he’s killed himself.”

Schultz adjusted the strap on his shoulder as he shrugged. “Colonel Hogan said that the Big Shot isn’t planning to do that anymore.” While his expression looked unconcerned, he didn’t quite sound convinced. Then he shook his head, sighing with something like defeat. “The night the Kommandant left camp with General Adler, he didn’t want to eat dinner. He said he wasn’t hungry.”

The tone clearly indicated that the final part of this non-sequitur was significant, but Hilda couldn’t imagine why. With whatever it was that had been supposed to happen that night, the idea that Colonel might have lost his appetite beforehand wasn’t so strange. Not nearly as strange as bringing up said lack of appetite _now_. She was tempted to try cutting this story short and ask what Hogan knew of the Kommandant’s suicide plans, but she knew better: if Schultz had a story to tell, letting him tell it would be the fastest way to return to the more important matters at hand. “What of it?”

He explained that the Kommandant hadn’t been eating properly for days and that, during the day in question, he hadn’t eaten anything at all. Missing so many meals couldn’t be good for him. “I told him I’d stand there all night to make sure he ate something if I had to.” His mouth quirked up into a humorless smile. “I knew he would order me to leave if actually didn’t want to eat. I just thought he was being stubborn and only needed a little push.”

Hilda could tell already that this story wasn’t going to have a good ending. Still, as much as she dreaded having her feeling confirmed, she needed to know what the result of Schultz’s push had been. “What happened?”

“With some encouragement, he ate a few bites.” Schultz lowered his gaze, ashamed. “It wasn’t until he started crying that I realized something was wrong. I asked him what the matter was, and he...” He took a deep breath, then, sounding close to tears himself: “He thought I was going to physically force him to eat if he didn’t do it himself.”

“But you would never do something like that!” Hilda protested on Schultz’s behalf. “He has to know that.”

Schultz regarded her with sad eyes. “He’s said he does but that it doesn’t matter. He said it wasn’t my fault that he’s afraid of me, but he _is_ afraid of me.” Something that was making a valiant attempt to be a smile. “He’d told me that before, that he’s afraid of me, but it was harder to hear him say it again sober.” The smile, such as it had been, faded. “He doesn’t trust me now, either. He hasn’t said it, but I can see it for myself.”

And Hilda could see how much this fact bothered the Sergeant. She felt a rush of sadness both for the gentle man in front of her and the fragile man behind the closed door. She set her hand on his arm in a silent gesture of support. 

He acknowledged the effort with a bow of his head. “I suppose I can take some comfort in knowing I’m not the only one he doesn’t trust.” Judging by the way the Sergeant said this, it was clear whatever comfort he took in knowing that wasn’t enough. “He told me he’s paranoid about everyone now. He said I can’t expect him to be rational about anything.”

The paranoia was new. While her employer had never been a paragon of cool, calm, collected thinking, he’d never been completely irrational either. But it would explain his jumpiness, the way he’d treated Langenscheidt, and how he’d reacted when Schultz had woken him up that morning. And, if he was able to think that _Schultz_ could mean him harm, God only knew what he thought the _rest_ of them were capable of!

“What I’m saying is the Colonel needs to be able to trust us,” Schultz continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “If we push him—even if he only _thinks_ we’re trying to force him to do this or that—he’ll never trust us.”

There was truth in the words, yes, but being completely passive wasn’t going to work either. The problems the Kommandant was obviously having weren’t going to go away if they were ignored long enough. There had to be some kind of compromise they could make. “I’m not going to let him forget we’re here.” She held up her hand. “I won’t push hard, but we’ve got to push a little. He’s already shown us he’s not coming to _us_. We have to come to _him_.”

While Schultz didn’t seem particularly happy about the declaration, he nodded. “I understand.” He half-shrugged, a gloomy expression on his face. “Maybe he’ll tolerate such things better from you than from me,” he said, more than a hint of bitterness in his tone. He blinked a bit then shook his head sharply. “I’m sorry, Fraulein.”

“It’s all right,” Hilda said, wishing she had something comforting to say. He was probably right, after all. Physically, Hilda was not as imposing as Sergeant Schultz—while the Kommandant had claimed complete irrationality, she couldn’t imagine him being too worried about her causing him harm. He didn’t like her touching him, but that wasn’t the same as being afraid of her. 

Schultz gave her a glum nod but said nothing.

Maybe it was time to change the subject. There was one other thing they needed to talk about before too much longer. “What are we going to do about Langenscheidt?”

A shrug. “You’re probably right that he’ll figure out the rest eventually,” he said, his voice still listless. “As you say, he’s not stupid.”

Hilda made her way behind her desk, thinking. “Should we just tell him then?” she asked once she’d taken her seat. 

Another shrug. “You do what you think is best.”

She considered Schultz for a moment, weighing mercy against pragmatism. She stood: for what she was going to do, she needed the extra height. “Stop acting like a child, Hans.” When the sharp words received a hard frown, she went on, fiercely, “I can’t do this on my own. I need your help— _he_ needs your help.” She curled her lip in a sneer. “ But if you’re going to give up because your feelings are hurt, you might as well just leave right now.”

There was no mistaking the anger on Schultz’s face and, for a moment, Hilda feared she’d pushed too hard. Then he let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging as though he were a deflating balloon. “You’re right, Fraulein. I’m being childish.” He went silent, thinking. “I don’t know what to do about Langenscheidt,” he said at last. “He seems satisfied for now.”

While Hilda had hoped he’d have some idea other than ‘wait’, she was happy Schultz was willing to work with her again. “What if he asks about it again? Or guesses?”

Schultz took another moment to think. “If he asks questions, don’t answer. But if he guesses, there’s no point in pretending he’s wrong.” He shook head. “I’m going to go patrol. It shouldn’t take Langenscheidt too long to finish with Vogel and checking on that fence.” 

“Just remember those men from Berlin are coming,” Hilda reminded him gently. “Don’t wander off too far.”

His smile was small but genuine. “Do not worry, Fraulein. I’ll be where I need to be. You can count on it.”

Then he was gone.

Hilda let her own shoulders slump as she retook her seat. What a mess. Glancing at the half-finished reports, she reflected that the words were suitable to describe those as well. She had her work cut out for her. And there was no time like the present. 


	81. Turn On, Tune In, Walk Out

“I don’t believe this.” Kinch could have easily said it, but Colonel Hogan had said it first. Adler’s father had come to Stalag 13 to find out what had happened to his son. Kinch’s first concern, Mr. Adler had come seeking revenge, had been put to rest when Mr. Adler indicated he was operating under a substantial misapprehension. Naturally, Klink had sounded disgusted by the notion that he and Adler had been more than friends, but his efforts to correct said misapprehension fell on deaf ears. Adler’s father had either been too unobservant to notice Klink’s true feelings or had been too deluded to care.

Of course, as unbelievable as Mr. Adler’s mere presence had been, the conversation took an even sharper turn into the fantastic after Mr. Adler had gotten the unsurprising answers to his questions. Kinch just glad he was hearing it all first hand: he wasn’t sure if he’d have believe it otherwise. Who would have thought that London had already been involved with the Adlers before General Adler had ever stepped into camp? It was one hell of a coincidence!

It was also unwelcome news. As though the Colonel wouldn’t be having a hard enough time getting the Kommandant to open up to him as it was! Now Klink knew that the Allies’ efforts to blackmail Mr. Adler had allowed General Adler to remain out of trouble—thereby allowing Adler’s blackmail of him as well. Klink could be dim, but he was no doubt smart enough to figure that much out. 

For the Kommandant’s part, though, Klink seemed unaffected by the news. His response to Mr. Adler’s admission was a flat, nearly noncommittal, “I see.”

In contrast, Hogan’s response was anything but apathetic. “They lied.” The words were low but fierce. “They lied to us.”

While Kinch was feeling a bit irked with London for the same reason, he was not nearly as angry as Hogan sounded. He looked over at his commander with concern, concern that grew when he saw the man’s expression matched his tone. “Sir?”

“They lied to us!” Hogan repeated, his voice gaining both volume and vitriol. “Those bastards knew all along what exactly was coming to this camp, and they said _nothing_.” He stood abruptly, as though he’d just sat on a tack “They didn’t think letting us know what we were dealing with was important? Or did it just slip their minds?” he ranted, his arms making wide sweeps. “And then they lied to me—to _me_! The most they’d cop to, after I flat-out asked them to level with me, was that they’d heard _rumors_. They knew a damn sight more than rumors, Kinch!” He huffed angrily and turned on his heel to look out the window. His tight shoulders signaled that the storm had not yet passed. Colonel Hogan didn’t often lose his temper, but, when he did, it was a sight to behold.

And it wasn’t as though he had no reason to be angry. His point had been a fair one. More than fair. Now that Kinch had more information to consider, London’s behavior had been downright bizarre. If Mr. Adler was telling the truth, _someone_ in London knew what General Adler had been up to—why hadn’t anyone thought to tell them about this when Kinch had asked for information on the man the first time?

That would be strange enough, but to _keep_ mum after Hogan started asking more questions? After everything the Colonel had done for them, he deserved straight answers. Or, at the very least, an explanation as to why he wasn’t getting any. Kinch could understand wanting to keep such information on a need to know basis, but they’d needed to know! What possible reason could they have had for withholding it? “Why didn’t they tell us what they knew?”

The question received a bark of dark laughter. “I’d say shame, but, right now?, I don’t think anyone there has a _lick_ of it.” He rounded on Kinch, the anger in his eyes edged with sadness. “Adler didn’t just go after other Germans in Berlin, you know. He went after prisoners, too. After _our_ guys. And _those_ were just the ones they _knew_ about!” He threw his arms up in disgust. “How many other Jacksons and Nowaks was Adler allowed to corner during all these inspection tours he’s been doing? Or worse?

“And for what? What amounts to _gossip_ from an old man?” He shook his head. “I sure hope,” he went on, his tone bitterly cynical, “that whatever information they got was worth it all. I’d hate to think they were selling us out on the cheap.” He looked stricken for a moment, the fury draining away, before he took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn them all to hell, anyway,” he muttered without heat. “How could they be so reckless?”

Kinch was beginning to wonder that himself. Still, London had been in this business for much longer than either of them had. London had to know what they were doing. Right? Just because he was finding it increasingly difficult to imagine what their reason could have been, that didn’t mean they hadn’t had one! “They must have had a reason,” he offered, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

“Of _course_ they had reason,” Hogan returned, rallying enough to be sarcastic. “They never do anything without a _reason_. Whether or not it’s a _good_ reason—that’s what you’ve got to watch for.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the hat in his hands. When he spoke again, his words were quiet and thoughtful. “The only thing I can think of is that Mr. Adler’s ‘old friends’ must be difficult to get close to. Otherwise, our own spies could have managed to get the information they wanted themselves.” He returned the hat to his head and sarcasm returned to his tone. “Although, now they’ll have to find a way of getting their information _without_ Mr. Adler’s ‘help’.”

Dimly, Kinch was aware of Mr. Adler explaining to Klink why he couldn’t afford to linger, but he hadn’t been paying much attention to what was happening in Klink’s office since Colonel Hogan had started in on London. He wasn’t really paying attention now either, but he did manage to catch the part of Mr. Adler’s speech that helped him make a missing connection. “That’s why London wanted Adler alive so badly: they were going to use him to keep his father in line.”

“That’s what I think,” Hogan agreed. 

It wasn’t a bad plan, and it probably would have worked. With Adler alive in London and his safety dependent on how cooperative Mr. Adler was, from what the way he’d spoken, Mr. Adler would have continued complying with London’s demands to keep him safe. Sure, General Adler’s upkeep on the London end might be unpleasant, but that would a small price to pay.

A small enough price that it left Kinch with an uncomfortable question. “Why not just do that from the start? Why bother protecting Adler from the Gestapo at all?”

Hogan considered it. “If I wanted to be generous,” he said, sounding very much like he had little desire to be generous, “I might say that they were worried about folks being suspicious about possible connections between Adler’s disappearance and Mr. Adler coming around to visit old influential friends.” His expression indicated that he did not believe this.

“And if you didn’t want to be generous?” Kinch prompted.

“Then I’d say it was expedience,” Hogan said, making the word ‘expedience’ sound like a curse. “It was just easier to help Mr. Adler pay off the Gestapo than it was to kidnap Adler outright.” He crossed his arms. “And why wouldn’t it be? That way they got to _share_ the cost.”

Laid out so plainly, London’s handling of this situation had been despicable. Kinch wouldn’t have expected London to step in and put a stop to Adler’s abuse of Allied prisoners (London was not all-powerful, and there was only so much their spies could do and still maintain their cover), but the fact that they’d helped Adler _continue_ his abuse was beyond the pale. 

The decision to go with the blackmail plan, to help Adler, would have been understandable if Adler had only gone after other Germans—it wouldn’t have made the idea any less distasteful, just understandable—but that hadn’t been the case. Apparently, the case had been that Adler had went after anyone he’d thought he could get away with going after. Thanks to London’s efforts, that list only became longer. 

Those men—both Adler’s fellow countrymen _and_ the Allied prisoners—had been put through a torture they couldn’t have been prepared to endure. They’d been forced to pay a price they hadn’t agreed to pay for a cause they hadn’t signed up for. The fact of the matter was that London had not merely _allowed_ them to be raped; London had _enabled_ it. And there would be no justice for those men. Or help. Assuming they’d lived long enough to need any.

It was disgusting and wrong. Deeply wrong. The injustice of it all made him feel sick to his stomach. Before Kinch knew what he was doing, he’d come to stand at a very tense at ease, his hands in tight fists at his sides. “What do we do?”

Hogan blinked at him, confused. “Do? About what?” “About London!” Kinch was unable to keep the rage an sorrow he was feeling out of his voice. “They can’t be allowed to get _away_ with doing this. We have to do something.”

Hogan’s expression offered nothing. “What did you have in mind, Sergeant?” he asked, his tone also offering nothing.

The unexpected coolness of the question undermined Kinch’s anger, but his sense of outrage would not be denied. “Confront them.” When this received no response, he tried again, sounding more desperate than he would have liked. “We need to hold them accountable.”

Considering how furious the Colonel had been with London mere moments ago, Kinch was taken aback when Hogan immediately shook his head. “We can’t do that.” He gazed up at the ceiling for a brief second, then sighed. “We have a job to do here,” he said, his tone broaching no argument—matter of fact and firm with a hint of reproof. “To do it effectively, we need London’s support. To secure that, we need to play ball, and playing ball means we’ve got to play nice.” He pointed to the chair Kinch had vacated. “Sit down.”

Once Kinch had reluctantly done so and Hogan had joined him, Hogan seemed pensive. An uncharacteristic expression of resignation made him look older, careworn. Like a man who’d had to make a lot of unpleasant compromises. “London made the wrong call with this Adler mess. And you’re right: they should be held accountable for it.” His tone still matter of fact but more gentle than it had been before. “But you know better. Now one has clean hands in this war, Kinch.”

As though sensing Kinch was about to protest this statement (which he had been), Hogan preemptively held up his hands for silence. “I do my best to keep us on the up and up here, but our hands aren’t exactly sparkling either.” He set his hands on his thighs and leaned forward, closer to Kinch. “The ends justify the means—there’s too much at stake now to think otherwise.” A kind smile. “It’s easy to forget that sometimes and think we have the luxury of always being able to stick to our principles. I suppose we were due for another reminder.”

Kinch wished he could deny his commander’s words, but Hogan was right: he _did_ know better, and it _was_ easy to forget. Although they sometimes thought of it as a game, war wasn’t good clean fun or an honorable contest of wills. Especially not on the saboteur end. It was dirty, and it made everything that came in contact with it dirty, too. 

He didn’t have to like that this was true, but he did have to accept it. He had to play ball. And, unlike in real baseball, if they lost, it wouldn’t matter _how_ they’d played the game. The only thing that really mattered was whether or not they won. So, even if he didn’t like the way they were playing the game, he still had to support his team. The alternative was unthinkable. 

Kinch accepted the rebuke with a nod and a solemn “Understood, sir.”

“Don’t feel so bad about it, Kinch,” Hogan ordered mildly, “it’s good to get self-righteous every once in a while.” Then he grinned and clapped a hand on Kinch’s shoulder. “And here I dragged you in here to help _me_ control _my_ —”

“Nothing!” Klink exclaimed with desperate panic. “Nothing you want to know!”

Kinch and Hogan traded startled looks, then Hogan cursed and leaned in more closely to listen. “What hell’s happening now?”

If Kinch weren’t so absorbed with listening for the answer to that question, he would have been relieved that he hadn’t been the only one allowing his attention to drift away from Klink’s office. As it stood, there was really nothing to be relieved about.

Things had taken a definite plunge since the last time they’d been paying attention. Klink was panicking, on the verge of hyperventilating, and whatever Mr. Adler was doing to ‘look for himself’ was making Klink’s panic worse. For several long seconds, the only sound was Klink’s ragged breathing. 

Despite Mr. Adler’s apology for whatever it was he had done, the conversation quickly took another plunge. Klink’s displeasure with Mr. Adler for using his first name was nothing compared to what happened when Mr. Adler demanded an explanation for Klink’s strange behavior. 

The fury in Klink’s voice as he tore into the other man was shocking. Kinch had never heard the Kommandant carry on this way—this made the way he’d egged on Hochstetter earlier seem tame. Listening to him now, Kinch could well believe that this man had pointed a gun at his commander and had threatened to use it.

Klink’s diatribe broke off suddenly with a sound that Kinch recognized as someone hitting him in the gut. Clearly, Hogan recognized it, too, and Kinch put a restraining hand on his arm. 

Hogan was already on his feet, and he glared at Kinch for a moment before seeming to realize what he was doing. He shook his head slowly and sat back down, giving Kinch a small, grateful smile. 

Despite the hit, Klink was still letting Mr. Adler have it, albeit with less volume. Then, abruptly, Kinch and Hogan were straining to hear barely audible mumbling. Hogan turned the gain all the way up, and Kinch almost wished the mumbling had remained inaudible. It was worse hearing Klink parroting the words than it had been to hear them coming out of Adler’s own mouth. Partly because, now, Kinch wasn’t busy being shocked that a visiting Gestapo general wanted to force a Luftwaffe colonel to have sex with him. Mostly because Klink sounded so broken. 

“Jesus,” Hogan breathed. “That Adler was some piece of work.”

Kinch nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. He listened to Mr. Adler gradually coming to terms with the fact that his son had been the man Klink had claimed he’d been with only half an ear. He was thinking more about what he’d heard from Klink during this conversation. How quickly Klink’s mood could shift from businesslike to unthinking panic to unbridled fury to utter defeat in the span of minutes. 

This was the first time, besides this morning, that he’d heard Klink having a conversation with someone besides Adler. With Adler, Klink had mostly been deferential or terrified—perfectly understandable responses. With Mr. Adler and Major Hochstetter, it was different. Almost self-destructive, self-sabotaging. Klink had never struck Kinch as being very good socially, but he usually had more sense than this.

It reminded Kinch of Michelle.

In the time before Michelle had taken her own life, her moods had shifted just as quickly and just as unpredictably when people spoke to her. Which was why even the few who were sympathetic had kept their distance. Which was why _he’d_ kept his distance. 

_‘She’ll be fine.’_

_‘She just needs some time, to sort herself out.’_

_‘If she needs help, she’ll ask for it.’_

_‘It’s not good stirring up the pot and bringing up bad memories.’_

Of all the mistakes Kinch had made in his life, listening to such advice was what he regretted the most. After Michelle’s death, he’d vowed to himself that he’d never make that mistake again—or allow others to make it either. And maybe Klink would never be the same again. Or maybe Klink might still decide to commit suicide in the end, but at least he wouldn’t have to face his trials alone. 

Like Michelle had.

“Finally,” Hogan said, drawing Kinch’s attention away from his darkening thoughts, “some good news. I just have to get a hold of whatever Mr. Adler wrote his address on.” He shook his head. “If he’s lucky, London will get to him before the Gestapo does.”

Kinch nodded but didn’t voice agreement. While he was sure that this was true, he hadn’t quite gotten over his disappointment with London yet. 

Fraulein Hilda and Sergeant Schultz had come into Klink’s office after Mr. Adler had left, asking questions. What became obvious in short order was that the altercation with Mr. Adler had done nothing good for Klink. He sounded close to tears, practically begging Hilda and Schultz to leave the matter of Mr. Adler alone. The sheer relief in the man’s voice when they relented didn’t bode well for Colonel Hogan’s future efforts, but it did convince Kinch that his intuition had been correct: forcing Klink to talk was a terrible idea.

Kinch only hoped that Klink would be willing open up before Hogan felt he needed to force the German’s hand.

Klink had just finished informing Schultz about the coming visit of two Gestapo officers from Berlin on orders from a Colonel Schmidt to collect General Adler’s things when there was a knock on the door. Hogan quickly clicked off the coffee pot just as Baker let himself inside Hogan’s office. 

“London’s on the line, Colonel,” he reported.

A hardening of the eyes that disappeared so quickly Kinch wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined it. “Did they ask for me specifically?”

Maybe Baker had seen it, too, because he cast an uncertain glance at Kinch before returning his attention to Hogan. “Yes, sir. They sounded pretty anxious to get a hold of you; I think they might have a job for us.”

There was no mistaking the slight slump of Hogan’s shoulders. “Okay. Tell them I’ll be right down.”

Once Baker was gone, shutting the door behind him, Hogan turned to Kinch. “I’d appreciate it if you kept what I told you about London to yourself. There are guys on the team a lot more hot-headed than you, and,” an apologetic note entered his tone, “it’s not good morale.”

That was putting it mildly. “Of course, sir.”

Hogan clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” He sunk his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the door. “Now, to see what London wants. I hope it’s a bridge: I’m in the mood to blow something up,” he said, sounding like he was only half-joking. Then he turned and departed from his office.

Kinch watched him go and hoped London _did_ have some sort of job for them. This had been a difficult week for everyone in the know—the Colonel especially. It’d be good to return to their normal mode of operation, to get back to doing the things they were good at. It’d be good to get back to something like normal.

It’d even be good for Klink: Hogan could be relentless and, if he didn’t have anything else to occupy his time, he’d be restless, too. Klink needed Hogan’s support—not to be the complete focus of Hogan’s attention. If Hogan had too much downtime, Kinch doubted he’d be able to keep himself from forcing the issue with Klink. Which was the last thing either of them needed. 

As for himself, Kinch decided what he needed was a walk. It was beautiful day, and he spent so much time down in the tunnels that he never missed an opportunity to get a little sun. 


	82. Putting the Cat Into the Bag

Although Hogan was glad he had something to report to London already, he wasn’t unaware of the potential complications and problematic questions that could arise once he passed his information along. He would pass said information along anyway; he just understood what he might be getting into. With any luck, London would be so pleased about the possibility of nabbing Mr. Adler before the Gestapo could that they wouldn’t question too closely how that knowledge came to be his. It would probably be easier if he already knew whatever it was Mr. Adler had given Klink, but he couldn’t take the risk of allowing Mr. Adler to slip out of London’s net on the basis that waiting could make things less difficult. 

So, he was depending on luck. That was nothing new for Hogan, and, generally, luck came through for him. He was feeling cautiously optimistic as he made contact with London. 

Once the usual business of confirming that everyone on the line was who he said he was, Hogan found himself talking to the same man who’d told the ‘rumors’ London had heard from Berlin about Adler. Only Hogan’s excellent self-control kept him from doing Kinch proud and becoming a hypocrite. If his tone wasn’t pleasantly neutral, it was at least even and professional. “I understand you wanted to speak with me specifically, Ugly Duckling.”

Not for the first time, he wished the higher ups hadn’t settled on fairy tale names: it was difficult to have a serious discussion with a man you had to address as ‘Ugly Duckling’. It could be worse though: he _could_ be having this conversation with ‘Prince Charming’ or ‘Little Miss Muffet’. As it was, Hogan would have to resist the urge to shorten the man’s name to ‘Ugly’. No matter how tempting it was. 

There was always a slight hesitation as words traveled to London, were received, were responded to, and the response traveled back. This hesitation seemed longer. “Yes, Papa Bear. I want to know why you asked for clarification about what we knew about the, ah, Sauerkraut.”

Hogan frowned. The obvious question was too obvious to expect an answer to. “And I told you that it was _my_ business.”

“Yes,” Ugly Duckling said, displeased. “And I’m telling you that I want to know. If you had some reason beyond idle curiosity, I want to hear it.”

“Idle curiosity?” Hogan repeated, not trying very hard to hide his incredulousness. As though he’d ever asked after sensitive information he _didn’t_ need! If Ugly Duckling were here, he’d show him some _idle curiosity_ —right in his kisser. He closed his eyes, reining himself back in. There was no point in entertaining fantasies of socking a man he’d never met in the mouth. 

Ugly Duckling wanted to know his reasons? Fine. He’d been fairly itching to make some complaints—even keeping Klink out of it, he had grievances. “Your Sauerkraut cornered a couple of my cubs,” he stated bluntly. “I wanted to know if this was something _new_ or if it was something you decided you didn’t need to tell us about the _first_ time around.” While he kept his voice level, he didn’t bother keeping the acerbic edge out of his tone. 

Maybe knowing everything before Adler had stepped into camp wouldn’t have helped, but it sure as hell wouldn’t have hurt! And, idle curiosity? Hadn’t he proved his trustworthiness to London by _now_?

Another overly long hesitation. “We hadn’t expected the Sauerkraut to be so, ah, brazen outside of his usual haunts. Clearly, it was a miscalculation.”

Hogan wished he could have been surprised. _Why assume malice when you can assume incompetence instead?_ “That doesn’t help me now.”

“Were your cubs hurt?”

The sudden concern in Ugly Duckling’s voice mollified Hogan somewhat and helped him make his decision. As he’d told Wilson, he couldn’t ask them to send him a shrink, but London had access to more resources than he did. Maybe they could send him something he could use. “One of them appears to be suffering from,” which term would Ugly Duckling take more seriously?, “a gross stress reaction from … the encounter, but I’d like to keep him here, if I can,” he added, hoping to head off the obvious suggestion. 

“Oh, naturally!” Ugly Duckling said, as though the mere suggestion of removing the man had been foolish. “We don’t send the boys away any more for combat exhaustion. The done thing is to treat such cases as closely to the front as possible.” A pause. “Although, clearly, this situation is unusual in that your cottage isn’t exactly on the front lines.” Another pause. “Still, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in sending you an outline of the procedures involved. They’ve made them simple enough for anyone with a bit of medical training to complete.”

Maybe sorting Klink out would be easier than he’d thought! “That would be appreciated, thank you.”

“I’ll arrange for it to be dropped as soon as possible—I understand you were expecting one soon anyway.” A hesitation. “I doubt I’m to find any joy,” Ugly Duckling said slowly, “but your cottage didn’t happen to get a visit from the Sauerkraut’s father, did it?”

“He stopped by,” Hogan said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. This was the part of the conversation he’d been dreading.

“Did he happen to mention where he was going from there?” Ugly Duckling sounded like he was trying very hard not to get his hopes up. 

“He said he’s planning to go to Switzerland.” Maybe this would be enough for London to be able to catch Mr. Adler, but Hogan couldn’t take the chance that it wouldn’t be. If the information Mr. Adler had was important enough to London for them to have enabled the lesser Adler’s ‘brazen’ behavior, then it was too important to let fall into the wrong hands. He was in for uncomfortable questions if his luck failed him, but his own personal comfort was not worth the possibility of letting Mr. Adler slip out of London’s grasp.

Hogan still hesitated, but it was for a different reason. He suddenly found the oh so clever name he’d picked out for the Kommandant was not nearly as amusing to him as it had been before this week. “The Sauerkraut’s father give the Fink a more specific way of getting in touch with him once he got there. I’ll get that to you as soon as I get the Fink to spill it.”

A pause. “Is the Fink a friend of his?”

So much for luck. Hogan was not looking forward to what was coming next. There wasn’t much he could do to keep what happened to Klink a secret now, but he hadn’t wanted to have to be the one to divulge it. Of course, he’d wait until he was asked the question before he offered up any answers. “No.”

A longer pause. “Why did the Sauerkraut’s father give the Fink that information then?” Ugly Duckling demanded, sounding both perplexed and annoyed. “He was so careful till now. Damned peculiar that he’d spoil his own escape like this.”

And here it was. He’d known it was coming but the knowledge hadn’t helped him any. Klink the Fink was quite the joke in London—mostly Hogan’s doing and, honestly, mostly deserved—but this was different. Knowing that what Adler did to Klink was likely to become yet another part of the joke and knowing that he was about to be directly responsible for that as well made Hogan feel like he’d eaten an entire loaf of the camp sawdust bread. 

But what else was there to do? Lying to London was pointless: once they had Mr. Adler, they’d just ask _him_ why he’d shared what he’d shared. Mr. Adler would have no reason to keep that a secret. All that lying now would gain him was trouble with London later on. As much as he hated the thought of Klink’s story being bandied around as yet another facet of the joke, he had no choice. 

Still, he owed it to Klink to try to minimize the damage, if he could. “I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, Ugly Duckling.”

“I think we’ve established, Papa Bear,” Ugly Duckling said, his tone faintly arrogant, “that I’m not one to sate idle curiosities. Any information I share is shared with those who need it.” A pause. Then, with enough shame to make up for the earlier arrogance: “We’ve also established that I don’t always share information with people who need it, either.”

That was putting it mildly. “Okay. I just don’t need this getting around.” He considered his words carefully. While he was tempted to try for vague and hope that Ugly Duckling could connect the dots on his own, Hogan decided he might as well spell it out. After all, Klink was not the sort of person Adler had gone after in Berlin—Ugly Duckling had no way of guessing that Adler would change his _modus operandi_ so completely. “What the Sauerkraut tried to do with my cubs, he pulled that on the Fink, too. His father wanted to make that up to the Fink, so he left a way of getting in contact with him.” 

Silence. Than, almost fascinated: “Really?” Ugly Duckling hmmed to himself. “I was under the impression that the Fink was an older gentleman.”

“He is.”

Another hmm. “Quite extraordinary,” Ugly Duckling said, still sounding more fascinated than anything else. “Did the Fink invite the Sauerkraut’s attention?”

More than the fact that Ugly Duckling would even ask this question, what made Hogan angry was the fact that he’d ever entertained the idea himself. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

It was difficult, but Hogan was able to sound merely irritated with his “I’m certain.”

“Quite extraordinary,” Ugly Duckling repeated. “I suppose we didn’t understand him as well as we’d thought.” Then his tone abruptly changed to something more businesslike. “Do you imagine that the Fink being compromised will cause your outfit problems in future?”

Compromised. Not the way he would have described the situation, but apt enough, Hogan supposed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair as he considered the question and debated how honest he could be answering it. What Klink had been through (and Hogan’s desire to help the man) would affect the smooth operation of his operation—there was no doubt about that. However, unless Klink went ‘completely spare’, as Newkirk would no doubt put it, then whatever issues cropped up wouldn’t be insurmountable. 

However, until he knew for sure whether or not the thing Klink was so certain Hogan would regret helping him over was a danger to his operation, it was irresponsible to give London the all-clear. “Undetermined at this time; it’s too soon to tell.”

“Very well, Papa Bear. Keep us apprised. We’ll contact you within the hour about the drop.”

Closing formalities were always brief with London. In less than two minutes, the connection was broken, and Hogan was alone with his thoughts. He took off the headset and set it on the table. Although getting out of camp for a while was appealing, he supposed it was for the best that London _hadn’t_ had something for them to blow up just now. The last think Klink needed was _another_ run in with Hochstetter quite so soon.

He slumped down into the chair and pulled his hat down over his eyes. No need to drag Kinch or Baker down here when he could wait himself. There was nothing pressing he needed to accomplish that couldn’t wait an hour. Or rather, he _did_ have something pressing, but it would probably be good to wait for an hour or so before he got down to it. Maybe by the time London got back to him and they concluded their business, Klink would be recovered enough for him and Hogan to have a nice, calm chat about what had happened on Grafweg.

Hogan knew he was more likely than not being overly optimistic, but he could be lucky. In any event, there was little purpose in idle speculation. In an hour, he’d go and give luck a chance to redeem itself. Until then, he’d sit here and wait for London to call.


	83. Coming Together*

Langenscheidt slowly made his way to the office building for his morning/afternoon shift in with a heavy heart. He hadn’t slept well the night before—too many things to think about; so many things to reexamine under a new, unpleasant light. As he’d told Schultz, he _did_ notice things. While he tried not to be too _curious_ about the things he noticed, he did notice them. 

For instance, he’d noticed when General Adler’s habitual morning, afternoon, and evening strolls around camp lessened before ceasing altogether, but the Gestapo general’s fitness regime (or lack of one) hadn’t seemed all that important. He’d noticed when more guards were placed around the showers, latrines, and other places that prisoners liked to hide, but he hadn’t thought much of it—duty rosters didn’t change often, but they did change from time to time. And he’d noticed that the American Corporal he’d found General Adler with behind the latrine had been shaken, but he’d put that down to nervousness—Gestapo Generals made _him_ nervous, and _they_ were supposed to be on the same side! 

With what he’d learned about General Adler, all of these seemingly unconnected observations came together in fairly obvious and horrible ways. 

However, other things he’d noticed weren’t coming together at all despite his best efforts; things mostly connected with the Kommandant’s recent bizarre behavior. The first time the Kommandant had been curt with him without apparent reason, he hadn’t been concerned—Colonel Klink occasionally became moody. It wasn’t until after the Kommandant had dispatched his cigar box that Langenscheidt had finally realized something was actually wrong. The way Sergeant Schultz had brushed off his concerns had only made him more certain of it. 

He hadn’t wanted to leave Colonel Hogan in the Kommandant’s care, fearing that the prisoner would become victim to a sudden fit of rage. Langenscheidt feared he would come back to the Kommandant’s quarters and find the man injured or dead. Although he’d taken the prybar back to the mess, there were no doubt other weapons on hand the Kommandant could turn on an unwary prisoner. That was why Langenscheidt had warned the Senior POW to be careful. 

In that office, seeing the Kommandant raise the prybar high before slamming it down with a shout of pure fury, Langenscheidt had been afraid. Afraid he’d be next. It had been the first time he’d ever feared for his life at Stalag 13, and a part of him still reeled at the fact that the person who’d inspired such terror had been Colonel Klink.

Not that he’d been afraid of him for very long. That night, when he’d come to announce General Adler, terror had been replaced with concern. Watching the Kommandant’s eyes go blank as his face turned pale, and then not getting any sort of response until raising his voice to a shout—it was worrying. Then to have the Kommandant not remember what Langenscheidt had come in for in the first place? Langenscheidt had never seen him like that. 

Then there had been That Day. 

Following General Adler’s orders had been nerve-wracking. Langenscheidt hadn’t _wanted_ to leave the prisoners alone with him but hadn’t seen a way around it: orders were orders. Naturally, he went to Colonel Hogan first, but he still had to leave him and Sergeant Wilson with the General. It was worse when, after the General had taken the call from Berlin, he’d ordered Langenscheidt not to go into the Kommandant’s quarters for any reason without any explanation. By the time the prisoners had emerged from the Kommandant’s quarters, Langenscheidt had just about convinced himself that Adler had done something to them—the prisoners _and_ Colonel Klink.

He’d accepted Colonel Hogan’s claim that the Kommandant was ill without question. It wasn’t until later that he realized he should have questioned it. He also should have questioned Schultz when the Sergeant had come back out of the Kommandant’s quarters, ordering him to remain in the Colonel’s office until he returned. But Langenscheidt hadn’t; he’d waited as he’d been ordered to, worrying about how worried Schultz had looked when he’d told the Sergeant what the General’s orders had been. 

The Kommandant had almost given him a heart attack when he’d burst into his office from his quarters, an almost manic expression on his face. At least he’d seemed happy enough. Too happy. He certainly hadn’t acted sick. He’d acted drunk, but Langenscheidt couldn’t smell the alcohol on him—with the way the man had been carrying on, he should have smelled like a distillery. The games of “Goldfish”, or whatever the Kommandant had called it, had probably been the most surreal hour of his life. 

How relieved had he been when Schultz had come back!

That relief hadn’t lasted long, unfortunately. Sergeant Schultz (now with Fraulein Hilda in tow, making Langenscheidt embarrassed to realize he hadn’t even wondered where she’d been) had quickly brushed off his concerns with a deeply unconvincing ‘he’s just tired.’ Then, when Langenscheidt finally dared to question something Schultz said, the Sergeant had sent him off to do mundane chores. When he'd come back, Schultz had still been somewhat brusque with him, but what had caught his attention then had been Fraulein Hilda's tear-streaked face. Her words to him, her apology, had been incontrovertible proof that something was definitely wrong at Stalag 13. He still hadn't been sure of _what_ exactly, but he'd known for sure something was wrong. 

So, when Sergeant Schultz had told him what General Adler had wanted Colonel Klink to give him, that seemed to be the answer. For a time. 

The problem was, the more Langenscheidt tried to apply that explanation to the Kommandant’s behavior, the less sense it made. He could imagine being blackmailed for something as horrible as what General Adler wanted would be stressful, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to attribute what he’d seen from the Kommandant to nothing more than simple stress. There had to be more that the Sergeant wasn’t telling him. 

It was really as simple as that. If only it were that simple. 

It wasn’t that Langenscheidt thought he was _entitled_ to any explanations—he was just a corporal, and he didn’t work as closely with Colonel Klink as Sergeant Schultz and Fraulein Hilda did—, but he would have appreciated not being lied to. Just being told that there was a problem, even without being told what it specifically was, would have been enough. 

But, no. Every single time Langenscheidt had broached the topic with Schultz, the Sergeant had brushed him off with unconvincing assurances. Even assuming that Langenscheidt was wrong, that the Kommandant’s only problem had been what Schultz had shared in the car, Schultz’s denials were insulting. He could understand, considering the sort of demand Adler had been making, wanting to keep the number of people in the loop as small as possible. He could even understand being kept out of the loop—what possible help could he have been? 

What he _couldn’t_ accept was keeping the _existence_ of a problem a secret from him. Hadn’t he proven his trustworthiness to the Sergeant by _now_? Even _Hilda_ hadn’t lied to him when he’d asked he what was wrong. She hadn’t told him anything, but she hadn’t pretended everything was all right, either!

The parts of him that didn’t feel indignant over his exclusion felt childish that said exclusion hurt as much as it did. 

Langenscheidt shook his head, willing the thoughts away. He could worry what was the mature way to feel about Sergeant Schultz’s apparent lack of faith in him later. At the moment, he had a job to do, and he was determined to do it well. He looked up from the ground and saw that he’d almost arrived at his destination. 

He noticed the green and yellow vehicle parked some five yards from the office building immediately. A civilian visiting Stalag 13? Generally speaking, the only civilians with business at camp drove trucks and vans, not fancy cars. He spared it a second glance as he made his way up the steps before shrugging to himself. In the unlikely event that any business pertaining to the car and its driver pertained to him, he’d be told.

At least, he hoped he’d be told. 

The last thing he’d expected to see when he entered the building was Sergeant Schultz and Fraulein Hilda huddled near the Colonel’s office door, looking very much as though they both had an ear against it. As for _why_ they’d be doing such a thing—listening with such rapt attention and such worried expressions—, he couldn’t even begin to guess.

Frankly, he was tired of having to. In an uncharacteristic burst of churlishness, Langenscheidt allowed the outside door to slam shut. Schultz and Hilda stood up and moved away from the office door so quickly they nearly knocked their heads together in their haste. The nearly perfect nonchalant way Hilda smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her clothes contrasted with the sudden, unconvincing, expression of innocence Schultz had adopted would have been amusing had Langenscheidt not felt so annoyed. His poor mood wasn’t helped the Sergeant asked him what he was doing here.

“I’m reporting for duty, Sergeant,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. “I _am_ still assigned to this post, aren’t I?”

“Of course.” Schultz repositioned the rifle on his shoulder in the way he did when he was nervous. “He’s in the middle of a private meeting right now.” His brow furrowed for a moment. “Go check on the fence near Barracks 8.”

It was all Langenscheidt could do to not roll his eyes. He’d just caught the Sergeant of the Guards and the Kommandant’s secretary eavesdropping on a private meeting, and he was being given blatant busywork so they could get right back at it. Just how stupid did Schultz think he was! “The fence near Barracks 8 is secure, Sergeant,” he reported blandly. “You had me check on it the other day.” _And it was obvious busywork_ then _, too._ “What’s going on?” he asked bluntly, not giving the Sergeant a chance to come up with some other pointless task for him to perform. 

“Nothing!” Schultz insisted a bit too forcefully. He shot a quick, anxious glance at the office door before drawing himself up to his full height. “Go check on the fence, Corporal.” 

Langenscheidt didn’t understand why the Sergeant was bothering with such an obvious lie. “The fence is fine, and you know it.” He narrowed his eyes, taking in the brief flicker of something crossing the Sergeant’s firm, authoritative mask. “What’s going on?” Not giving Schultz a chance to repeat himself, he added, “And don’t tell me nothing—you and Fraulein Hilda wouldn’t be listening at the door like that if it were nothing.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Schultz said firmly. 

“Oh! So there _is_ something to be concerned about!” Langenscheidt exclaimed only to be frantically shushed. “What I don’t understand,” he went on, making an effort to speak more softly, “is why you can’t be honest with me.” He splayed his hands out in front of him and wished he didn’t have to beg to be in the Sergeant’s confidence. “You already told me what General Adler wanted to do to the prisoners—is this really something worse than _that_?”

“Nothing is going on,” Schultz said after a moment, looking almost guilty. Then his expression hardened. “Unless you want to go on report, Corporal, you _will_ go check on the fence.”

Slowly, Langenscheidt brought his hands back to his sides as he considered the consequences and decided he didn’t care. Let Schultz write him up for insubordination! He’d had just about enough of this. “Put me on report,” he said as evenly as he could manage. The words were stilted and furious to his own ears. “I’m not leaving until you stop lying to me.”

Schultz came forward, looking very much like he planned on _forcing_ Langenscheidt to leave, when Hilda put a hand on his arm, stopping him short. “What?” he snapped, his voice sounding more anxious and worried than frustrated or angry. 

“It’s Langenscheidt,” she said quietly, as though the words had weight.

Whatever Fraulein Hilda had meant by invoking Langenscheidt’s name was apparently not lost on Schultz. He stared at her for a long second before his shoulders slumped. “You’re right.” He turned his gaze to Langenscheidt, apologetic. “It’s not my place to explain what’s happening.” 

And what was that supposed to mean? Not his place. “Whose place is it?” Even as he asked the question, an answer presented itself. “Colonel Klink’s?”

Judging by Schultz’s wince, Langenscheidt’s guess had been on target. “Langenscheidt...” he trailed off before rallying. “It’s... It is worse than what you already know, and I won’t say any more about it.” 

“All right.” If it were truly _that_ bad, Langenscheidt probably was better off not knowing what it was. However, that wasn’t the point. The point was that Schultz had spent the last week trying to convince him that nothing was wrong when something clearly was. Why hadn’t Schultz told him what he’d just told him now _then_? He would have been satisfied with only that! He crossed his arms, knowing he looked petulant but not caring. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just said so before.”

Schultz was frowning at him in clear puzzlement. “What good what that have done?” he asked simply, his tone nearly dismissive. 

Langenscheidt wished that didn’t hurt as much as it did. “At least I’d know you still trusted me.” He regretted the words immediately—they sounded even more petty and stupid when spoken out loud than they had in his head. There were no doubt hundreds of more important things the Sergeant had to concern himself with than his subordinate’s injured pride. The thing he couldn’t talk about, for starters. 

He fully expected now to be told he was acting like a child and that he ought to know his place. 

Which was why he was surprised when Schultz’s eyes widened with dismay. “I didn’t realize you felt this way.” He stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Langenscheidt’s shoulder, a weary expression on his face. “I did not mean to make you feel untrusted.” His mouth turned up slightly into a rueful smile. “I was trying to convince _myself_ as much as I was trying to convince _you_ that nothing was wrong.”

“If we could tell you everything,” Hilda chimed in earnestly, “we would. I promise you that.”

“Oh,” Langenscheidt said, feeling both touched by their affirmations and ashamed that he hadn’t had more faith in them. All he’d wanted to know was whether or not there was still a problem and, now that he knew that, he wasn’t going to press. He stood at attention. “I’ll... I’ll go check on that fence.”

Before the Sergeant had a chance to do more than take his hand off of Langenscheidt’s shoulder, the door to the Kommandant’s office opened.

The Gestapo general seemed surprised to find so many people standing near the door. As he quickly shut it behind him, Langenscheidt noticed he was an older man, perhaps older than Colonel Klink. Something about him seemed familiar, but Langenscheidt couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. His red-rimmed eyes gave him the appearance of having recently been crying or else suffering from allergies. The thickness of his voice when he spoke pointed towards the former. “Your Colonel is indisposed.”

For whatever reason, this had been the wrong thing to say. Schultz’s eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened into a hard line. “Is he?”

“He is,” the General confirmed. “He shouldn’t be disturbed for at least an hour.”

Again, this seemed to be the wrong thing to say. “Is there a reason for that, General?”

Something very much like guilt ghosted across the General’s face. “Our conversation was... difficult for him.”

Langenscheidt hadn’t thought the Sergeant was _capable_ of being threatening, so he was more startled than the General was when Schultz took a step forward with unmistakable menace. “If you’ve done something to him, General Vogel, you _will_ regret it.”

For his part, Vogel recovered quickly, surprise making way for something unreadable. “Are you threatening me, Sergeant?”

Rather than backing down, Schultz matched Vogel’s icy tone. “No, sir. I am telling you what will happen.”

To Langenscheidt’s utter shock, Vogel broke out into a grin. “Subtlety is a virtue, Sergeant.” He walked over to the door to the outside. “Corporal, take me out to the car. The steps are slippery.”

Only pausing long enough to give the Sergeant a worried glance, Langenscheidt followed the General outside. “He didn’t mean it,” he said quickly as he held his arm out for Vogel to take. The last thing he wanted was for Schultz to get arrested for threatening a superior officer! “He’s... he’s just a bit stressed, sir.”

Vogel seemed to consider this. “Stressed?”

Langenscheidt decided that it was safe enough to share part of the truth. “There was a Gestapo general here for nearly two weeks.” He smiled, recalling what the Sergeant had said. “That long with a Gestapo general is enough to make anyone a little crazy.” Then he remembered who he was talking to. “I mean—”

Vogel waved off the attempted apology with a sardonic smile. “The Gestapo have the reputation they have for a reason, boy.” Then his expression became more somber. “There was a reason for Josef’s reputation, too.” The words were soft, sad, and quite possibly not meant to be heard. 

“Josef?” There was something familiar about that name and, after a moment, he recalled who it might belong to. “You mean General Adler, sir?”

“Yes,” Vogel said, his voice full of pain. His hold on Langenscheidt’s arm tightened, and Langenscheidt was grateful more than one layer of cloth protected him from clawing fingers. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

So, he’d been right: Adler had been killed that night. And it wasn’t too difficult to see that Vogel had been close to the man—no one became this distraught over the death of a stranger. Although, the man in question merited no mourning, Langenscheidt couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the man standing next to him. “I’m sorry for you loss. You must have known him well.”

A bitter bark of laughter. “You’d think so. I’m his fa-father’s friend.” Vogel slowed to a stop, his eyes welling with moisture. He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and took his hand off of Langenscheidt’s arm long enough to blow his nose. He put the handkerchief away, a melancholic thoughtfulness overtaking his expression. “It turns out I didn’t know Josef as well as I thought.” He bowed his head and started walking again. “Or maybe I did and just didn’t want to admit to myself he could do what Colonel Klink accused him of.”

Langenscheidt couldn’t believe it and wasn’t able to stop himself in time. “He told you about General Adler’s blackmail?”

Vogel’s head jerked back up, and he stared at Langenscheidt with clear incredulity. “ _You_ know about it?”

It wasn’t surprising that he’d be surprised, Langenscheidt supposed. Langenscheidt _was_ just a corporal, after all—such things were far above his pay grade (as Sergeant Weber was fond of saying). It also wasn’t so unbelievable, now that he had a chance to think about it, that Colonel Klink would take the opportunity to report General Adler’s activities now that Adler was dead and unable to expose whatever it was he’d been blackmailing the Kommandant with. Of course, that left him with needing something to say to the still waiting General. “I was only told because Sergeant Schultz needed my help.”

This seemed to mollify the General which left Langenscheidt to wonder why the General had been in need of mollification. “Terrible business,” he said with quiet disgust as his attention returned to his footing. 

That was putting it mildly! Langenscheidt remembered Colonel Hogan’s plea that Corporal Newkirk be allowed to remain in Barracks 2 with Sergeant Kinchloe. He didn’t like to think about what that might mean. While he hadn’t seen any injuries and the Engländer had seemed only tired, that didn’t mean very much—Corporal Newkirk was often difficult to read. Perhaps Adler hadn’t had a chance to do anything. Or maybe he’d had a chance to do everything. It was impossible to know without asking, and Langenscheidt had no intentions of doing so. 

Besides, even if worse _had_ come to worst...

“Colonel Hogan will sort it out,” he muttered to himself. The sentiment felt more convincing actually spoken, and he was in sore need of convincing. 

“Colonel Hogan?” Vogel asked distractedly, his gaze still turned downwards. “Who’s that?”

Langenscheidt ducked his head, embarrassed that he’d spoken loud enough to be heard. “The Senior POW.”

“What is the Senior POW supposed to do about any of this?” Vogel asked, his sneer clear in his tone.

Even as his flush grew from the implied rebuke, he tacitly questioned why the General _wouldn’t_ think Colonel Hogan’s contributions were important considering the topic of their discussion. Something was wrong. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. “Well, sir,” he began, doing his best to shake off the sense of wrongness he was feeling, “considering what Adler wanted, if there’s any problems, Colonel Hogan will find a way to fix it.” He took a breath and spoke with more confidence than he felt, “He always seems to find some way of taking care of the men under him.”

Vogel stopped so suddenly, Langenscheidt almost pulled the man along with him. As it was, he nearly slipped on the ice from the unexpected drag on his arm. Once Langenscheidt regained his balance, he found Vogel giving him a look of sheer disbelief. “The Kommandant is under your Senior POW’s care?”

_What?_ Langenscheidt quickly retraced their conversation, looking for some point within it where he’d so much as _suggested_ such a thing. “No, of course not.” As the other man’s expression became one of apprehension, Langenscheidt had a burst of realization. _That_ was it; that had been what was wrong: he and General Vogel had been having entirely different conversations up to this point. Now, Langenscheidt knew what _he’d_ been talking about—but what had _Vogel_ been talking about? More importantly, did Langenscheidt want to know?

“Then what...?” Vogel trailed off, looking around him slowly. Apparently satisfied, he leaned in closer to Langenscheidt. “Then what are you talking about? What were you told?”

Langenscheidt considered his situation, who was asking the question, and what Vogel had already revealed. Taking all of that into consideration, there seemed to be little point in angering a Gestapo General by pretending he didn’t know anything. He made an effort to speak quietly, mindful of the fact that what he was about to say would be dangerous ringing in the wrong ears. “That General Adler blackmailed the Kommandant to get his hands on one of the prisoners.” He bit his lip before adding in a whisper: “Adler wanted to rape him.”

Vogel was silent for a long moment, seemingly content to stare at Langenscheidt with a sort of horrified fascination. “I hadn’t expected...” He cut himself off, shaking his head, and sighed before he started walking once more. “I suppose,” he went on quietly, clearly more to himself than to Langenscheidt, “there’s no reason Josef wouldn’t try hurting a prisoner, too.”

_‘too’?_ Who _else_ would Adler have ‘hurt’? With the way his thoughts began to race, it only took him a few moments to come up with an answer. His only comfort, when he realized how perfectly said answer fit everything he’d observed, was that there hadn’t been any way he could have figured it out on his own. Even if he _hadn’t_ been actively trying _not_ to think, he still wouldn’t have come up with this.

But it explained everything. The Kommandant’s bizarre behavior; Schultz and Hilda’s secrecy; why Schultz would be reluctant to admit that there was a problem at all; why Fraulein Hilda had been in tears in the Kommandant’s office—no wonder she’d been so upset if _this_ was what she’d been hiding! And no wonder Schultz had been so suspicious of and threatening towards Vogel. 

Which reminded Langenscheidt of the reason he’d started talking to Vogel in the first place. “Please be lenient with Sergeant Schultz. He’s just worried; he didn’t mean any harm.”

Vogel laughed with what appeared to be genuine amusement. “I’m sure he meant me plenty of harm.” By this time, they were standing in front of the green Maybach, Apparently, this was the vehicle the General had arrived in. Odd but then Langenscheidt had other concerns than what kind of car Vogel liked to drive. 

He understood he was about to overstep his bounds—more so than he’d done already—but he didn’t know what else he could do. At least if he knew the authorities would be coming for Schultz, he could warn him. “What are you going to do, sir?”

“Do?” Vogel blinked a couple of times, then offered Langenscheidt a tired smile. “I’m not going to do anything, boy.” Then his expression became more serious as he took his hand off of Langenscheidt’s arm. “But he may not be so lucky next time. Tell your Sergeant to be more careful with his words in the future. Loyalty like his is difficult to replace.”

It was entirely possible the General was lying, but Langenscheidt couldn’t see why he’d bother lying to a Corporal. Or why he’d bother giving the Sergeant advice if he planned on throwing him in the stockade. Langenscheidt felt a tension he hadn’t noticed before lift. He saluted crisply. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Vogel returned it. Before Langenscheidt had a chance to open the door for him, Vogel did it himself and climbed into the car. Within seconds, the door was shut and the car was pulling away towards the gate. 

Langenscheidt watched the car until it had gone out of sight and General Vogel was well on his way before turning his attention towards the office building. He had a lot to think about before he went back to see Sergeant Schultz. At least the time spent checking the undoubtedly still completely secure fence could be used to decide when (or if!) he was going to tell Schultz and Hilda he’d figured out what they’d been hiding. 

On one hand, they hadn’t wanted to tell him (or hadn’t felt like they _could_ tell him). On the other hand, as much as he respected Sergeant Schultz and liked Fraulein Hilda, he wasn’t sure that they would be able to do whatever had to be done on their own. Now that Langenscheidt himself especially knew what needed to be done or that he thought he would be of any particular help. Still, he wanted to support them, if he could. 

And Colonel Klink as well.

_It’s almost a shame the Kommandant_ isn’t _under Colonel Hogan’s care_ , Langenscheidt thought as he made his way to Barracks 8. The Senior POW always seemed to know what to do. He paused for a moment, remembering that Schultz had told him that Colonel Hogan had been involved with Corporal Newkirk being in the car with General Adler and the Kommandant. Did _he_ know about what Adler had done to the Kommandant? He considered the question for several long seconds before slowly shaking his head and continuing on his way. While it was true that Colonel Hogan was clever and resourceful, well, he _was_ a prisoner. Sergeant Schultz wasn’t going to give that kind of information to one of the enemy no matter how helpful said enemy could be.

The fence near Barracks 8 looked the same as it did yesterday: completely untampered with and secure. He kicked up a little snow as he stood there, thinking. Did he tell them or didn’t he? The points for and against hadn’t changed during his walk. They remained the same when he started pacing, too. He didn’t know how long he stalked back and forth in front of the fence, his mind going over the same arguments over and over again. 

He sensed the presence of someone falling into step beside him and glanced out of the corner of his eye to see who it was. Sergeant Kinchloe. Before coming to work at Stalag 13, he’d never seen a Negro in the flesh, but he’d found Kinchloe nice enough. Nice enough not to get _too_ offended when Langenscheidt had gawped at him like when he’d been a child qawping at the animals at the Berlin Zoo. He still remembered how mortified he’d been when Schultz had cuffed him on the head and he’d realized what he’d been doing. He slid his eyes forward again. It wouldn’t do to stare.

“Looking for something?”

Langenscheidt shook his head. “I’m not sure what I should do,” he admitted, seeing no harm in sharing that much. “I want to help, but I don’t know what good _I_ can do anyone.” He felt his shoulders slump even further as his thoughts returned to well-tread territory. “They didn’t want to tell me at all, so would it be better not to tell them I figured it out?

Kinchloe was silent for a moment. “Sounds complicated,” he offered at last.

“It is!” Langenscheidt exclaimed, too annoyed to be embarrassed at how juvenile he must sound to the older man. Before he could stop himself, he explained the crux of his frustration with Schultz and Hilda: “I understand the secrecy, but they couldn’t even _admit_ anything was wrong? As though I couldn’t _see_ that much for myself?” He shook his head, feeling himself becoming angry again. “I’m not an idiot.”

Silence stretched as two sets of boots crunched through the snow. A glance confirmed that the Sergeant was still waiting for him to say something more. Langenscheidt shrugged to himself. “I suppose it would only be fair if _I_ kept secrets this time, but,” he couldn’t hold back a sigh as he realized his thoughts had come full circle again, “then I won’t be there for them to depend on if they _do_ need me.”

Another bout of silence. “Maybe it’s not that complicated after all.”

Langenscheidt stopped short. Not complicated? He turned to look at Kinchloe, who was smiling gently. “What do you mean?”

Kinchloe splayed his hands out in front of him. “It just sounds to me like you already know what you ought to do.” He put his hands down with a half-shrug. “You want to help them, and it sounds like the only way you can do that is if you tell them what you know.”

When it stated like that, it really was obvious. He felt his face go hot—to think he’d spent however long he’d spend pacing just to come to the conclusion he’d wanted to in the first place! Maybe he _was_ an idiot. “You’re right.” 

A pleased bow of the head. “I get that a lot.”

Langenscheidt laughed despite himself. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“It was nothing,” Kinchloe said lightly, waving the thanks away. “You already had the answer; you’d have realized it for yourself eventually.”

He knew he had to be grinning like a fool but didn’t care. “I think I’ll thank you anyway for,” was the phrase the same?, “lending me your ear.”

Either it was or the meaning was clear to the Sergeant. “You’re welcome, then.”

Nodding, Langenscheidt squared his shoulders. Now that he’d made his choice, it was best to go through with it before he had a chance to lose confidence. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something I have to do.”


	84. Looking Without; Seeing Within

Since Klink still didn’t trust himself to drink, that had left him with smoking to soothe his nerves. Luckily, there had been a few survivors of the prybar incident to choose from. Unluckily, he was discovering that the usually relaxing pastime was not so relaxing when one had unpleasant thoughts weighing on one’s mind. 

Smoke drifted up to the ceiling as Klink puffed on the cigar, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead. The day wasn’t even half over, and he felt mentally exhausted already. Too much happening all at once. First Schultz, then Hochstetter, then Schmidt, then Herr Adler—and he knew it wasn’t over. There was still Hogan due to drop in, expecting Klink to tell him God knew what. _With any luck,_ he thought, his free hand drifted down to his still aching stomach, _when I tell him how I’ve used him, Hogan will hit me somewhere else._ And maybe General Burkhalter could come by, too, just to make his day complete! 

He grit his teeth around the cigar. Before he could worry about General Burkhalter’s hypothetical visit and Colonel Hogan’s actual one, he had to decide what to do about Herr Adler. While he’d told Schmidt he’d call if anyone showed up asking about Adler, Klink found himself hesitating. He didn’t owe Herr Adler anything, certainly not protection, but he didn’t think he wanted to be responsible for Herr Adler’s death, either. Klink was clever enough to understand that the match book he’d used to light his cigar was a death sentence in Schmidt’s hands. 

And it wasn’t as though Klink owed Schmidt anything either. 

Except the same cooperation any loyal soldier of the Reich would give to a Gestapo Colonel, of course.

He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. This was doing him absolutely no good at all. Maybe the problem wasn’t that he had too much to think about; maybe the problem was he was thinking too much. He needed to take a step back. He needed some mental distance before he made any big decisions. He set the half finished cigar down on the ash tray with the intention of letting it go out. It was a waste of a cigar (they never tasted right after being lit the first time), but he was tired of just sitting here and thinking. He needed to do something else. Anything else.

Klink stood and surveyed his office. _Perhaps_ , he thought quickly before he had a chance to get stuck in the mire again, _what I need is a change of scenery._ He acknowledged tacitly, even as he started his new project, that it was both mere busy work—something to keep his hands and mind occupied—as well as doomed to failure: he doubted his planned diversion would prove all that diverting.

He ran into problems immediately. The layout of his office was pretty well optimized as it was. Even if it hadn’t been, the furniture was heavy, too heavy for him to safely move on his own. He didn’t have the materials (or even the know-how, to be perfectly honest) to change the paneling on the walls or to put up some wallpaper. The same went for the carpeting. 

That left the pictures on the wall. 

The pictures nearest his desk were closest, so Klink started with them. He took them all down first, trying not to look at them too closely: the smiling young men in the pictures didn’t seem to have much to do with him anymore. Once the wall near his desk was bare, he looked down at the pile of frames and made a decision. Most of the frames had been damaged thanks to Adler, so he carefully extracted the pictures from their broken prisons and deposited the wood and glass into the trash bin. 

The pictures themselves found a new home hidden away in his bottom desk drawer, beneath the empty Luger. Perhaps later, he’d put them back on the wall. When he could bear the weight of their stares.

Then he eyed the portrait of the Führer. He stared at the larger than life image: the Führer giving a speech in front of a crowd of enraptured Germans, promising a return to glory for the Fatherland, forever and ever. Klink had looked at the picture before, of course, but those times he’d remembered the excitement of the Nuremberg rallies and the rush of nationalistic pride that had come with seeing Germany begin to regain its feet. 

Looking at the portrait now, however, just made him feel tired and ill with the knowledge of what had been allowed to happen to him in the name of keeping the Führer’s Secret Police’s authority unquestioned. He wasn’t feeling especially patriotic just now, and, more to the point, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ a portrait of the Führer so prominently displayed in his office anymore.

But first things first. He’d take down the picture and dust it off. Then he’d decide where its new home would be. However, as soon as he took the Führer’s portrait off the wall, he wished he’d left it alone. The thing on the wall was instantly recognizable. It had been hidden by the frame, but with the portrait leaning haphazardly against the wall where he’d dropped it, the thing on the wall gleamed. 

Klink pulled up the thin metal disk with trembling fingers and brought it up to his face, as though he needed a closer look to be sure it was what he already knew it was. He supposed he’d been naïve not to realize—not to guess!—that something like this would be here. After all, if his Senior POW could leave camp whenever he pleased and undermine the entire camp with tunnels, Klink shouldn’t be surprised by the presence of a listening device in his office. For God’s sake, the man could contact London! Bugging his office was nothing compared to _that_.

What _else_ would he find if he kept on looking?

He walked over to the desk and stopped once he was standing in front of it. With deliberate gentleness, he set the listening device down on the desktop. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at the invasion of his privacy. Now that his numb shock was wearing off, he only felt defeated. Had he managed to do _anything_ right as Kommandant of Stalag 13? _Anything_? It seemed like the only thing he had left was being able to fill out paperwork—and he couldn’t even focus enough to do _that_ properly anymore!

Klink closed his eyes. At least now he had some idea of what had made him so useful to Hogan: being too stupid to check for listening devices. It also answered the question of how the American had always seemed to know so much about what was going on around camp or how Hogan just happened to appear in his office when important things were happening. The corner of his mouth quirked up. It must be easy for his Senior POW to play Sherlock Holmes when he already... knew... the answers...

The realization left him lightheaded as the blood drained from his face to pool in his boots. He sat heavily in the chair in front of his desk, barely conscious of the pain the motion had caused as his mind reeled. Dear God. Could it be that simple? That horrible? Could it be that Hogan _hadn’t_ figured out anything? Could it be that the reason Hogan had known what Adler had been doing to him was that the American had heard it first hand? Or at least enough of it to understand what Klink’s deal with Adler had entailed?

Klink wasn’t nearly stupid enough not to realize the answer to those questions. He wrapped his arms around himself as his chest constricted. What _else_ had Hogan heard? Doubtless the device wasn’t _always_ being monitored, but all that meant was that Hogan couldn’t have heard _everything_ that had happened here. But he still could have heard _anything_. And recalling everything that had happened in this office for the last week, that was bad enough.

A knock on the door shattered the silence. Klink flew out of the chair so quickly, he nearly tipped it over in his haste. Pain sliced through him and his heart took up residence in his throat, but he was more concerned with making certain that, when he backed up, the thing on his desk was blocked from the view of anyone who might be standing in the doorway.

Fraulein Hilda was staring at him with stark concern. “Are you all right, sir?”

Klink needed a moment to remember how to breathe. “I’m, I’m fine. You just-just startled me,” he forced out once his heart had descended enough to allow the words through. “What is it?”

She definitely looked skeptical but didn’t dispute his words. “Colonel Hogan is here to see you.”

Colonel Hogan. There was no need to even think about it. He was in no condition to face the American right now—not until he decided what he was going to do. Whether or not it turned out to be moot once he’d told Hogan what he had to tell him, Klink still had to make the choice about the thing on his desk for himself. “Tell him... tell him I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”

“Of course, Kommandant.”

Klink turned away and heard the door shut. That wouldn’t deter Hogan for long, of course. He’d known better than that when he’d still thought _he_ was the one running this camp. It would only be an act of supreme mercy if Hogan didn’t show up sometime before tomorrow. Frankly, with the sort of bad luck he’d been having today, he fully expected to see Hogan within the hour. He doubted he’d be ready to see him then either.

But, as with so many things lately, this was nothing he had a choice about. 

The device on his desk, however, he _did_ have a choice about. A part of him wanted to smash it into an unusable, unrecognizable lump of metal. It was more than a door into complicity and treason, after all: it was a tangible symbol of how easy he’d been to use, of how blind and foolish he’d been. He wasn’t going to smash the device though; he was _not_ going to throw another tantrum. If he decided to foil further spying, he’d find a more cool and collected way to make the thing nonfunctional. 

Klink picked up the disk, letting it rest in the palm of his hand as he considered the main question: was he prepared to commit treason?

To be accurate, he’d already committed treason when he’d accepted the American’s help. He’d accepted that at the time, of course, but he also hadn’t made any actual plans of surviving past that night on Grafweg. Now that he was going to live, he was going to have to make a difficult choice. Perhaps, the most difficult choice of his life. He was actually a bit surprised that he was finding it so difficult to make. No, he wasn’t feeling particularly patriotic at the moment, but that didn’t mean he was ready to betray his country!

He frowned as he reconsidered the idea and realized he didn’t have it quite right. He loved Germany: it was his homeland, after all. One did not throw away one’s home and culture lightly. But... the Third Reich was not synonymous with Germany, and the Nazis were not synonymous with Germany’s culture. If he chose to allow the espionage to continue, it would be his government he was betraying and that thought was not nearly so wrenching. While he’d been enamored with Hitler, to start with, he’d never been particularly fond of the political party Hitler had brought into power with him. 

The National Socialists had always struck Klink as being more than a little paranoid. Their insistence that the Jews had somehow lost the Great War was frankly ludicrous. He’d served along side several Jews during that war, and they’d fought no less sincerely than anyone else. Jews did tend to keep to themselves, to their own communities, to their own businesses, but that didn’t mean they were planning devious plots against the German people. 

As for the Nazi’s ideas about blood purity, there had been the 1936 Olympic Games. 

Germany had won the most medals at the games, true, but America had come in a close second with its Negro “auxiliaries”, as _Der Angriff_ had put it. The general feeling that the Americans had cheated somehow by bringing so many Negros to the games had always perplexed Klink. Clearly, having done as well as they had, they’d had every right to be there. But the main thing that had impressed Klink then was the fact that the Negros _had_ done so well. If Aryan blood were truly so much purer and if Aryan athletes were truly so much better than those of all other races, how had the Negros won _anything_ when up against Aryan might? 

The conclusion had seemed fairly obvious, even to him!

Klink had kept these opinions to himself, of course: even as early as 1936, it hadn’t been such a good idea to be so free with one’s opinion. Besides, most of his friends at the time had seemed to feel the same as everyone else—if one the only person with one’s opinion, it was easy to think that maybe one didn’t understand the situation as well as one thought one did, even if one couldn’t quite shake one’s private doubts.

His doubts had never quite gone away, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he was merely being stupid. During war, there were always rumors—everyone knew that. Rumors and propaganda fighting it out while the truth lingered somewhere in the middle, being beset by both. Klink had tried not to listen to rumors, but it was amazing what one could hear even while actively not listening. Rumors of losses; propaganda of victories. Rumors of terrible, terrible things happening in hospitals and prison camps; propaganda of ending the misery of the afflicted and protecting the purity of the Aryan race. Rumors of corruption in the Gestapo and Gestapo brutality; propaganda of the finest of the German military doing the things that needed to be done. 

Well, anyone with half a brain knew that the Gestapo were corrupt and brutal. _He’d_ known that himself before Adler had come into his life! But he hadn’t realized to what extent. Although, he supposed he should have. Every time he’d had to deal with one of their number, he’d think to himself that the Führer’s not so secret police had gotten a bit out of hand. Recalling now his numerous encounters with Major Hochstetter—feeling like he’d had to defer to the little maniac even though he was of a lower rank because Klink had been terrified of making a Gestapo officer angry—it made Klink taste bile.

If what Herr Adler had said about what he’d been promised in return for spying on the Gestapo was true, the Allies had had a hand in keeping General Adler out of trouble. However, they never would have been able to manage that if the organization itself did not have so many within it only concerned with expedience or personal gain. Yes, some of the blame for what he’d been through had to be portioned out to the Allies but, even with laying some of that blame at the Allies’ feet, there was plenty left over for the Gestapo for being hopelessly corrupt.

And, if something this horrible had been allowed to happen to _him_ —a loyal officer of the Reich in good standing—, Klink didn’t want to think about what his government, his Führer, might be allowing to happen to others. He didn’t want to think about what other rumors might be based on something true.

Thinking about it that way, the idea of treason didn’t seem so terrible. But it wasn’t as though the Allies’ hands were exactly clean either. They certainly didn’t have the best interests of Germany or Germans in mind! 

If Hogan were responsible for even _half_ of the things Hochstetter had blamed him for, the American’s efforts were getting Klink’s fellow countrymen killed—and not all of them soldiers. Then again, if even half of the rumors he’d heard were true, Klink’s own government’s efforts were _also_ getting his fellow countrymen killed—and not all of them soldiers. It seemed that, whichever side he chose to be on, he was going to help get his fellow countrymen killed—and not all of them soldiers. Action or inaction yielded the same result.

Except it wasn’t action versus inaction. It was inaction versus inaction. If Klink chose to side with Hogan, it would still be inaction. It would be doing what he’d done all along, feeding information to the American through the bug, except now he’d be complicit. And not even the sort of competent complicity where he had a cause he believed in and skills to contribute. No, this would just be him being the same marionette he’d always been; the only difference being that he’d be painfully aware of the strings.

He bowed his head. It seemed that Adler’s death had not freed him: it had merely changed his owner. Even as he thought it, he knew he wasn’t being fair. Whatever the American’s faults—and he had faults!—, Robert Hogan was no Josef Adler. At least the American had a cause beyond his own twisted desires. Besides, Hogan had taken quite the risk to tell Klink what he’d told him, and not only the risk that Klink might have him shot. Hogan had risked the trust of his men. In a way, Hogan had committed treason, too.

Klink thought about Albert Adler, who’d been forced to commit treason to save the life of his son. There were definitely similarities between Herr Adler’s situation and his own. If he didn’t want to ‘play ball’ with Hogan, what options did he have? Turning Hogan in wasn’t an option for the same reason it hadn’t been an option for Adler—turning the man in would not prevent the man in question from taking Klink down with him. Silencing Hogan by more permanent means wouldn’t work even if Klink could bring himself to do it; with the power at Hogan’s disposal, his men could save him. And, if they couldn’t save their commander, they could (and would) certainly make Klink pay. As for running away, that was still impossible: there still wasn’t anywhere for him to go. Unless he wanted to join Herr Adler in Switzerland. Which he did not.

Thinking about it that way, although he was sure it hadn’t been Hogan’s intention, Klink had not merely exchanged owners; he’d exchanged blackmailers as well!

His thoughts strayed to Hans Kronen, his friend, the man who’d been willing to commit treason to fight for his convictions. Hans’s only mistake had been thinking that _his_ friend had any convictions _he_ had been willing to fight for. Hans had paid for that mistake with his life. 

At the time, with the danger to his own life thanks to Hans’s list, Klink had not had time to grieve his friend, the friend he’d been willing to deny to save his own skin. Later, when the list was burnt and he was safe, Klink had spent several long nights wondering what he could have done differently, if there had been anything he could have done to save Hans. Even now, he didn’t think there was. If Hans’s death could be said to be Klink’s fault, it could only be because Klink had not been the sort of man Hans had thought he was.

Hans would have died anyway, but he wouldn’t have died for nothing.

Klink wiped the tears off his cheeks, almost surprised. These thoughts were not new, but it had been a long time since he’d shed any tears over them. He wondered what Hans would have done in his place. Would Hans have been willing to allow an American Colonel to use him to kill Germans?

No, because Hans would never have been put into this position. He hadn’t needed to be backed up against a wall to make his choice. He’d been willing to think about the things that Klink had tried so hard not to. Hans had had principles he’d believed in and a cause to fight for. He’d been willing to take the risk that his convictions could get him killed. Hans Kronen had been a much better man than Wilhelm Klink, a man whose closest brush with standing up for his principles had been not joining the Nazi party—a thing he’d have been willing to give up if pressed.

But the world had lost Hans and had kept Wilhelm. So, Klink was the one who had to decide what to do about the device in his hand. There were really only three options available to him as far as he could see: he destroyed it, remaining a loyal officer of the Third Reich while, simultaneously, making an enemy of his Senior POW (it _was_ a strange way to think of it, but apt); he pretended he’d never seen it, continuing to be complicit in a purely passive way; or he confronted Hogan and demanded to be given a more active part to play. Depending on how the war ended up and depending on how carefully he could maintain whichever charade he chose, all three paths could lead to his death. 

Klink shook his head, disgusted with himself. No, he wouldn’t make _this_ choice based on preserving his own personal safety—he’d given up too much of himself in service of that nearly worthless commodity already. Besides, if all paths could very well lead to his death, then he wanted his death to matter. He didn’t want to be murdered for the sake of something he didn’t believe in. 

And he wasn’t going to simply allow things to happen to him anymore. 


	85. Burning Walls

London had been as good as Ugly Duckling’s word. Not only had they gotten back to him within the hour, the drop that Ugly Duckling had promised would be arriving in a couple days. Granted, a drop of medical supplies and explosive chemicals had already been in the works, but that hadn’t been due to arrive for at least another week. To top it off, the entire call had lasted no more than ten minutes—if only all his communications with London ran so smoothly!

Hogan only wished his coming conversation with Klink would go as well. He knew it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. Even if Klink had managed to pull himself back together in the time Hogan had spent waiting on London, that didn’t mean he’d be up for the discussions Hogan needed to have with him. Assuming Klink even agreed to see him.

Assuming Klink would even be given the opportunity to refuse. As Hogan made his way back to the barracks proper and then on to the office building, he considered the barrier he’d have to breach. Or rather, the barriers: Sergeant Schultz and Fraulein Hilda. Their newly strengthened loyalty to and care for Colonel Klink alone made the prospect of getting by them more difficult that it would have been in the past, but there were further complications. 

Hogan had allowed himself to skim the surface with those two and, up until very recently, that had worked well for him. Even so, it was a blow to his professional pride to realize how much he’d missed. While he’d never thought Hilda was stupid, he’d never realized how observant and thoughtful she was. And while he knew that Schultz had a good heart in there _somewhere_ , he’d never have imagined there was a backbone buried under all that blubber as well! 

Naturally, even with these new facets, Hogan was fairly confident in his ability to manage both of them … individually. Whatever other qualities Schultz possessed, he still wasn’t particularly bright: he could be fooled or distracted long enough for Hogan to do as he wished. As for Hilda, well, he was aware of the effect he could have on _her_. Even if _that_ route failed, she wasn’t physically strong enough to stop him from going wherever he wanted to go. 

Together, they could prove a real challenge. What one lacked, the other made up for. With Schultz in the room, Hogan wouldn’t be able to do the things he usually did to make the girl putty in his hands. With Hilda in the room, Hogan wouldn’t be able to pull a fast one on Schultz. And, while Hilda didn’t have the strength to keep him out of Klink’s office, Schultz certainly did. He had no doubts he could suss out a weakness in the setup he could exploit—he wouldn’t have the position he did if he wasn’t clever enough to find ways around obstacles—but he hadn’t come up with a strategy yet.

Still, he did some of his best work off the cuff, and it didn’t made sense to try coming up with any grand strategies until he actually saw the pair in action. With any luck, Schultz wouldn’t even be there: usually, Langenscheidt had this shift in the Kommandant’s office. That introduced its own set of problems but nothing he wasn’t prepared for. 

Hogan stepped inside the office building and looked around, disappointed but, honestly, unsurprised. Hilda was putting papers into her filing cabinet, and Schultz was leaning against the wall by the office door. The place had the air of a funeral parlor, and the Germans’ grim expressions became guarded as soon as he walked through the door. 

Pretending he didn’t notice their reaction to him, he closed the door and smiled. “Hello, Fraulein Hilda,” he greeted warmly before inclining his head to Schultz. “Sergeant.”

Schultz stood up straighter. “Colonel.”

Hilda hesitated, glancing at Schultz, before offering Hogan a strained smile. “Hello, Colonel Hogan.” She set the still unfiled papers on her desk. “What brings you here?”

Since flirting with Hilda in front of an audience held little appeal for him, Hogan decided to get right to business. “I was hoping to get in to see the Kommandant.” 

“Of course,” Hilda said, her quick glance to Schultz clearly asking for some sort of guidance. When the guard only shrugged, she frowned at him then returned her attention to Hogan. Her hands had drifted together in front of her chest and she’d begun to wring them. “What do you want to talk to him about?”

A glib answer was on the tip of his tongue, but Hogan was able to stop himself in time. Now wasn’t the time for glib: now was the time for sincerity. Sincerity was easy for Hogan to fake, so he was surprised by how difficult it was to find the words now that he meant them. “Mostly, I just want to see for myself how he’s doing.”

“Really?” Hogan turned to find that Schultz had moved away from the wall to come stand near the desk. “Why does it matter to _you_ how the Big Shot is doing?” It wasn’t exactly hostile, but it was definitely in the same neighborhood.

Hogan noted the aggression with interest. Men of Schultz’s build tended to either make the most of their bulk to intimidate or they tried to seem as small and as harmless as possible. Generally speaking, Schultz tended towards the latter, and it showed now that he was trying to do the former: he was overcompensating for his normally gentle nature.

As for the reason Schultz was trying to intimidate him, it was fairly obvious if disheartening. If the guard genuinely saw Hogan as a threat to Klink, odds were poor that he’d actually let him in to see the Kommandant. So, if he was going to convince Schultz that he _wasn’t_ a threat, he had to answer the question he’d been asked.

Since the truth wouldn’t serve his purposes (even if he’d wanted to share the fact he was actively trying to give aid and comfort to the enemy to _another_ enemy, Schultz would never believe it), a more plausible lie would have to suffice. He had just the thing. “Well, Schultz, I’m still the Senior POW around here, right?”

Schultz stared at Hogan for a moment, clearly sensing a trap but uncertain whether or not it had already been sprung. “Ja.”

“That means I’ve got a vested interest in the Kommandant’s welfare,” Hogan explained in his most reasonable reasonable tone. “If he’s down for the count, who am I going to complain about the food to or make requests from?” He shook his head in a way that indicated how foolish Schultz had been for even wondering why Klink’s welfare should matter to him. “I’d like to see for myself whether or not that’s all still on the table.”

Even before Hogan had finished talking, Schultz was shaking his own head with disapproval. “You want to know if you can still do all your monkey business,” he accused. “That is what this is all about.”

Hogan sank his hands into his pockets, affecting an air of nonchalance that he most definitely was not feeling. He shouldn’t be surprised that the guard would think his interest _only_ concerned his ‘monkey business’—especially since he’d effectively claimed just what Schultz had accused him of!—but knowing Schultz could _believe_ he was that cold stung. “The men get in trouble when they get bored,” he demurred, neither wanting to confirm nor deny Schultz’s contention. “If they get too bored, not even the Escape Committee will be able to keep them here.”

“Hogan,” Hilda complained, her tone a strange mixture of worry and exasperation, “you’re not going to say something like that to the Kommandant, are you? I think he has enough to worry about as it is!”

“I’m sure he does,” Hogan agreed, managing not to sigh with difficulty. Hilda was just worried, and, in the grand scheme of things, it did not matter whether or not a Stalag secretary trusted his judgment. “I’m not planning on saying anything to upset him.”

“And what _are_ you planning to say?” Schultz didn’t quite demand. He put up a warning finger. “He does not need any of your monkey business right now.”

Hogan raised his hands in mock surrender. “No monkey business, I swear.” When neither German seemed convinced, he frowned at both of them. “Trust me; I’m not looking to hassle him. I just want to see if he’s all right.”

Immediately, Hogan knew he’d said too much too earnestly.

Hilda and Schultz stared at him, searchingly and bewilderedly respectively.

“Anyway,” Hogan continued quickly before either could have a chance to decide what to think, “can I get in to see him?”

Evidently, he’d waited just a second too long for his diversion. Schultz’s eyes hardened as bewilderment made way for something dangerous. “You already know he is not ‘all right’,” he said flatly. “What do you really want?”

“What I said,” Hogan answered with as much patience as he could muster, meeting Schultz’s glare with one of his own, “to make sure the Kommandant’s all right.” The guard’s expression didn’t change, and Hogan felt his temper rise. “Can’t I show the man some compassion without being called a liar?”

Schultz’s scoff told him the answer to that question was a resounding ‘no’. “Compassion?” he repeated scornfully. “When did _you_ start to feel _compassion_ for the Big Shot?”

Did the guard think Hogan completely without compassion? Or did he think Hogan just hated Klink _that_ much? And, either way, it wasn’t as though _Schultz_ had shown much concern for Klink before this week either! “About the same time _you_ did.”

The statement clearly startled the Sergeant, but he recovered quickly. “This is not about me,” he said stiffly. He crossed his arms and leveled Hogan with an almost disgusted glare. The sort of glare that proclaimed: I know you’re lying and you know you’re lying, so admit it and stop wasting everyone’s time. “Why do you pretend to care?”

 _Why does_ this _sound familiar?_ Hogan knew that he was moments away from saying something he shouldn’t, but, at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d had just about enough of this defamation of his character. Knowing that, after everything that had happened, Schultz could stand there and believe that Hogan couldn’t dredge up even an iota of genuine concern made him feel like he’d been sucker punched. “Well, Schultz,” he said, his tone heavy with caustic sarcasm, “seeing as the Kommandant was willing to off himself rather than let me become General Adler’s new bunk buddy, I figure I owe the guy a little gratitude.”

There. That was something he shouldn’t have said.

While Schultz didn’t have enough information to immediately understand what Hogan was referring to, Hilda did. She covered her mouth, her face growing sickly pale. “ _You_ were the prisoner General Adler wanted?”

Schultz’s eyes went comically wide as he looked between Hogan and Hilda. “What? What are you talking about?”

Hogan took off his hat and ran a hand over his hair. Damn. Damn it, he knew better than to lose his temper like this! He considered Schultz and Hilda and realized that there was no way to take back what he’d said. He allowed himself a sigh as he returned the hat to his head. “You remember me telling you that I asked why the Kommandant was going to commit suicide?” At Schultz slow nod, he continued, “He told me that General Adler wanted one of us prisoners to play with, and he didn’t think he could say ‘no’ for too much longer.”

Schultz’s mouth made an ‘O’ of surprise.

Hogan tried to smile cheekily but didn’t have the stomach for it. There really wasn’t anything funny about any of this. “And, apparently, Adler thought _I_ was a ‘fascinating individual’.” He sank his hands into his pockets again. “Of course, even if that weren’t true,” he went on, letting just a bit of his earlier anger into his voice, “I’m not a _complete_ monster, Schultz.”

“I never—!” The guard broke off his own denial, looking suddenly ashamed. “I didn’t _mean_ to say that,” he said, bowing his head. When he looked up again, he was smiling sadly. “I guess I am a bit paranoid, ja?”

“Yeah,” Hogan agreed, feeling himself unclenching fists he hadn’t realized he’d made. “I think it’s been a rough week for all of us.”

“More rough for some than for others,” Hilda reminded them, crossing her arms like a reproachful schoolmarm, “and the last thing he needs is for us to fight outside his office door.” Apparently satisfied that both of them were appropriately contrite, she let her arms fall. “I wish I knew how to help him.”

Hogan wished he had a certain answer for her rather than just the hope that all the Kommandant needed was some kind of sounding board. “He’ll be all right,” he asserted brightly. At the twin set of disbelieving looks he received, Hogan widened his smile, determined to sell it. Maybe, if he could convince them, he could convince himself. “He’s got you and Schultz on his side—that’s got to count for something.”

Hilda frowned then nodded to herself, as though making an interesting, if ultimately unsurprising, realization. “And he’s got you, too, doesn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

Hogan looked from Hilda’s certain face to Schultz’s guardedly hopeful one and realized he’d been going about this thing the entirely wrong way. If he wanted to help Klink, and he did, he’d _have_ to get Hilda and Schultz’s cooperation, yes. And the easiest way to do that was to convince them he was on their side, true. But he _was_ on their side for this. Why try to pretend otherwise? Neither Schultz nor Hilda were likely to go blabbing to anyone who might make things difficult for him. He grinned. “Yeah, he’s got me, too.”

The secretary smiled. “I thought so.” Then her smile faded away, and she sighed. “I don’t know if he’ll want to see you.” She traded glances with Schultz, who nodded. “A General Vogel came to see him today.” She crossed her arms loosely in front of herself and leaned against her desk. “Whatever they talked about in there, it upset the Colonel greatly. He... All he would tell us was that the General didn’t do anything to him. He didn’t want to tell us anything else.” 

“Maybe he’ll want to tell me,” Hogan said with exaggerated confidence.

Hilda rolled her eyes but Schultz’s expression became serious. “Do not push him.” It was a command, not a suggestion. 

“Would I do that?” Attempting to look harmless, Hogan headed off the obvious answer with: “Don’t worry—I’ll be careful. I know when to stop pushing.” Would that _that_ was true—how much simpler would things have gone if he’d known when he was pushing too hard!

If the hairy eyeball he was receiving was any indication, Schultz was not buying what he was selling. “You had better be careful, or—”

“Oh, stop that,” Hilda interrupted, exasperated. “You don’t need to threaten Colonel Hogan.”

Schultz’s expression remained hard for a second longer before his shoulders slumped. “Ja,” he nearly sighed the word, “just be careful, please. You can’t... you can’t push him if you want him to trust you.”

Hogan wondered where Schultz had gotten this insight and, considering his attitude, how much that insight had cost him. However it had happened, the German was clearly more perceptive than Hogan had given him credit for, too. “Of course.” He smiled his reassuring smile. “Just leave it to me.”

While the guard still looked less than reassured, he made no further objections.

Hilda looked from Schultz to Hogan. “I’ll go see if the Kommandant wants any visitors.” She knocked on the door before opening it enough to duck her head inside. Her posture became briefly rigid with surprise or shock. “Are you all right, sir?”

After several long seconds, Hogan could just about hear Klink’s reply. “I’m, I’m fine. You just-just startled me. What is it?” Despite his protest to the contrary, he sounded more than just ‘startled’ to Hogan. This was not boding well for Hogan’s future plans.

“Colonel Hogan is here to see you.”

Silence. Then: “Tell him... tell him I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”

“Of course, Kommandant,” Hilda said reassuringly with a slight bow of her head. She closed the door and turned back to Hogan, apologetic but firm. “He said he’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

Hogan could take a hint. There would be nothing further to be gained by pressuring Hilda and Schultz today. Waiting until tomorrow was out of the question, but there was no need for the two in front of him to know that. “Then, tomorrow it is.” 

He noticed that the grim expressions from earlier had returned to the pair’s faces. A possible explanation could be worry about the man in the office, but Hogan didn’t think that fit. After all, they hadn’t looked like that the entire time they’d been talking about Klink. “Why do you two look like someone’s died?”

Schultz started. Then he sighed. “I’m in big trouble,” he said quietly. Not forcing Hogan to ask, he elaborated, “I threatened General Vogel.”

And here he’d been worried about _Klink_ getting himself into trouble! Yes, it had been good that Schultz had dragged Major Hochstetter out on Klink’s orders, but threatening Generals? That wasn’t a great career move. Or even a great not-get-thrown-into-the-stocade-for-the-forseeable-future move. While ‘General Vogel’ was unlikely to be filing any complaints about the Sergeant’s conduct, there was no telling what the _next_ person Schultz tried that on would do!

Still, he had to admire Schultz’s hitherto hidden moxie. “I don’t know whether or not I should be impressed.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Hilda said crossly. “If he’s lucky enough to get out of this without getting into trouble, he doesn’t need to try it again.”

Schultz frowned, his expression a mixture of worry and annoyance. “I won’t, but what’s done is done.” His nonchalant shrug was nothing of the kind. “What can I do about it now?”

Before Hogan could decide how best to echo Hilda’s call for discretion if this situation ever came up again, the door to the outside opened to admit Corporal Langenscheidt.

Langenscheidt glanced at Hogan briefly before standing at attention in front of the Sergeant. “I have checked the entire fence near Barracks 8, and it it completely secure.” Once Schultz had acknowledged the news with a curt and distracted ‘Good’, the Corporal took a deep breath. “General Vogel wanted me to tell you to be more careful with your words in the future, and that loyalty like yours is hard to replace.”

Schultz blinked, utterly nonplussed. “Was?” Then he held up a hand to forestall any repetition. “When did Vogel tell you that?”

“When I walked him out to his car.” Langenscheidt was making a valiant attempt to sound matter-of-fact, but Hogan could still hear nervousness beneath the words. “I asked him not to, um, be too hard on you for what you said. And he said he wasn’t going to do anything, but that I should tell you what I told you. Because the next person might not be as forgiving.” 

For several seconds, Schultz seemed only able to stare. “He said all that?”

Hogan wasn’t sure which part of this was the most surprising: that Langenscheidt had risked asking a Gestapo General for anything—let alone leniency—, or that Mr. Adler had offered the advice he had. While he’d sounded contrite over the bug and had given Klink a way of contacting him should Klink decide there was something he wanted, it still seemed odd that he’d care enough about Klink’s welfare to talk about how hard it was to replace loyalty. 

Langenscheidt nodded. “He did.” Then he glanced at Hogan again. “What would you like me to do now, Sergeant?”

“You can take your shift here,” Schultz said after a moment. He smiled slightly. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.” He’d almost made it to the outside door before he turned back, a sudden intensity to his expression. “We are expecting two more Gestapo officers to arrive today around noon. I will be dealing with them but, if I miss them, don’t let them in to see the Kommandant. Colonel Klink does not want to see them. Understood?”

Langenscheidt seemed a bit taken aback, but he made no argument. “Of course, Sergeant.”

Seemingly satisfied, Schultz nodded and made his way out of the office.

“They’re coming to pick up General Adler’s things,” Hilda supplied, breaking the silence left in the Sergeant’s wake. “And good riddance.” She scooped up the files she’d set down earlier and turned to the filing cabinets. 

Langenscheidt frowned. “I suppose it makes sense.” He hesitated, throwing yet another glance at Hogan, before asking how the Kommandant was getting on. 

“Not good,” Hilda said simply. “You’re probably stuck in here with me again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Langenscheidt’s eyes immediately widened as he seemed to realize what he was implying a moment too late. “I mean, I don’t mind being here with _you_ , but—”

Hilda’s laughter was loud and welcome. “Oh, Langenscheidt,” she said, turning around and flashing him a winning smile, “you’re adorable.”

The Corporal’s face had gone scarlet, and he ducked his head. 

Hogan clapped the young man briefly on the shoulder. “You little devil,” he said in a stage whisper. “Soon, you’ll have her eating out of your hands.” He grinned at Hilda. “Try not to injure the boy.”

“Colonel Hogan!” Langenscheidt very nearly wailed. “Stop helping me!”

“Goodbye, Colonel,” Hilda said, sounding in better spirits than she had all week. 

While his job here wasn’t done—not by a long shot!—, he'd done everything he could do for the moment. Time to beat a retreat. "Goodbye, Fraulein," he returned. Then he walked out into the mid-morning sun, feeling accomplished but drained. So many delicate operations, and there were more to come. Klink would have to be attended to eventually, and there were those Gestapo officers due to show up in an hour or so. He took a deep breath of chilly air before heading back to the barracks to take a well-deserved break. 


	86. Matters to Discuss

The worst part, Carter decided, was not being _sure_. If he’d been _sure_ , that would be awful, but at least he’d _know_. Maybe he’d even be able to come up with a way of fixing the problem.

If there actually _was_ a problem.

“You going to make a bet, mate?”

Carter jerked in his seat, then blinked down at his cards. He sighed softly as he realized he had nothing worth betting on. Sure, he could try bluffing, but Newkirk would know—he _always_ knew. Besides, he’d let Newkirk talk him into playing this game with the hope it’d distract him from his heavy thoughts. He didn’t feel up to bluffing when _that_ wasn’t going to work either.

“I’m out,” he declared, doing his best not to sound as down as he felt. Before Newkirk, Foster or Johnson could comment on this, he stood and set down his cards. “I need some air.”

Newkirk regarded him with some concern. “Want some company?”

At another time, if he’d been having other thoughts, Carter would have taken Newkirk up on his offer gratefully. As it was, he struggled not to resent his friend’s concern. Besides, Newkirk had already made _his_ opinion of Carter’s worries extremely clear. 

He shook his head. “I won’t be long,” he lied. Not waiting for a response, he grabbed his jacket off his bunk and carefully didn’t look in Newkirk’s direction as he put it on and headed outside. Shutting the door behind him, he was relieved to find that most folks had decided to stay in rather than wander around the compound like he planned on doing. The fewer people he had to run into the better.

The air was cold but not especially so to Carter. Winters in Indiana and North Dakota had been colder than any he’d gone through in Germany so far. Not to say that wintering in Germany had been pleasant—a fella missed the comforts of home—but it wasn’t quite as bad as some people liked to complain it was.

Such well-worn thoughts did not distract him long, and as he dragged his boots through the slush, his mind soon returned to the topic he’d been finding himself hard pressed to _stop_ thinking about. Maybe Newkirk was right, and he was over-thinking things, but what if he wasn’t? What if he was thinking things over just enough? What if the leap he was making was the right one—what then? There had to be some reason because Colonel Hogan never did anything without a reason. As for what that reason might be, Carter did have a few ideas, none of which he liked. 

Carter was not ashamed of being ignorant and inexperienced at times. Nobody could know _everything_! So, it didn’t bother him that much to have to ask what was so funny or to have this or that explained every so often. What _did_ bother him was when folks mistook his ignorance for stupidity or his inexperience for childishness. He wasn’t stupid or a child. He was a full-grown man with a business degree—just because he didn’t know every little thing other people thought everyone ought to know, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of himself. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t understand what was going on. And it certainly didn’t mean the Colonel couldn’t—

The sudden impact from his right was enough to break his concentration and would have been enough to send him tumbling to the ground had it not been for a strong, swift hand catching his arm. After Carter steadied himself, he looked up and saw Sergeant Schultz peering down at him, clearly concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Carter snapped, finding Schultz’s concern insulting. He wasn’t as delicate as all that! However, seeing the guard’s expression shift into something wounded, he felt instantly ashamed of himself. It wasn’t right to be sore at him when the German wasn’t the one Carter was mad at. “I’m fine,” he repeated in a softer tone. He forced himself to smile at the worried guard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to run into me.”

Schultz released his arm, returning Carter’s smile with a small apologetic one. “Entschuldigung. I didn’t see you until,” he waved his hand between them, indicating their collision. 

“I wasn’t paying much attention either,” Carter admitted. Glancing around, he saw just how true this statement was. It was probably a good thing Schultz _had_ run into him considering how close he’d been coming to the gate. He said as much, earning a frown. 

“You should not be so reckless,” Schultz stated in a tone that was both fond and displeased. “Especially not at a time like this.”

At a time like this? “What do you mean?”

The stare the question received was disbelieving. Then the German’s expression became closed. “After all the trouble the eagle caused,” he said conspiratorially, “it would be better if nothing else... exciting happened for a while.”

Carter considered the words, then took a moment to reconsider them before deciding that his first consideration had been correct: that hadn’t made any sense at all! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an eagle around here—never mind the fact that winter was still going strong! “When was there an eagle here?”

For some reason, this statement surprised the guard. “Oh,” he said after a moment. He was clearly thinking something over before shaking his head. He smiled kindly at Carter as he put a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t anything you need to worry about.” 

“Okay,” Carter said agreeably even as he resented this latest bit of someone deciding he didn’t need some piece of information. It was strange though. Even with everything else that had happened this week, he would have thought he’d notice something like an eagle flying around the camp. Especially if it had been causing some kind of trouble. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he hadn’t noticed something, he supposed. 

And, with everything Colonel Hogan had had to worry about, maybe he hadn’t noticed either. 

Or maybe it was just another thing Colonel Hogan had decided not to tell him.

“Why are you out here?” Schultz asked after a moment of staring and silence. 

“I needed some fresh air.” Carter returned Schultz’s scrutiny and realized that the German looked tired. He found himself wondering if the guard was tired for the same reason Kinch and the Colonel were tired. It would make sense that Schultz might know something since he was always at Klink’s beck and call. He’d have to be blind not to notice something wrong. 

And, as often as Colonel Hogan took advantage of Schultz’s willingness to look the other way, Schultz wasn’t blind. 

Then again, that probably wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with the German in broad daylight in the middle of the compound. Or at all, really, since it would only lead to questions that Carter shouldn’t answer. “How are you?” he asked instead.

Schultz shook his head, miserable. 

While Carter couldn’t claim any kind of friendship with the man, he liked him enough to ask what was wrong.

Schultz hesitated, then he shook his head again. “I missed breakfast,” he said at last with a strained smile. “With Major Hochstetter and then General Vogel, I didn’t have a chance to get to the mess before they cleaned up from breakfast.”

Carter was almost certain that Schultz was lying but figured he wasn’t in any position to force the German to talk about whatever was really troubling him. Besides, considering how much Schultz loved to eat, maybe missing breakfast _would_ make him that miserable. “That’s too bad.” Then something he’d said registered. “Who’s General Vogel?”

Again, Schultz hesitated. “Just another Gestapo General.” He waved his hand vaguely in the air in front of him, as though getting rid of a bad smell. “He stopped by to see the Kommandant. Nothing exciting happened.”

Considering the fact that Gestapo generals didn’t often visit Stalag 13, it did seem odd that one would show up out of the blue. Then again, since Hochstetter had been sent packing, maybe the Major had called a favor in. Then again again, if _Hochstetter_ had been responsible for Vogel showing up, well, Carter would have expected the General’s visit to be pretty exciting. “We’re real popular today,” he said, figuring that whatever had happened or hadn’t happened with General Vogel probably wasn’t anything he needed to worry about. Even if it was, Schultz wouldn’t tell him.

“Too popular,” Schultz grumbled. Then something behind Carter caught his attention. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he’d wanted to see. “Already?” The word was said like a curse.

Even as Carter turned to see what had caused the guard so much dismay, he heard the car pulling up to the gates. Standing as close to the gates as he was, he could easily tell that the driver was Gestapo. Stalag 13 was certainly getting a lot of Gestapo attention lately! “Jeeze Louise.” 

Schultz was already hurrying over to the gate, making good speed for a man his size. He arrived in time for the car to drive through and come to a stop just inside camp. The doors opened to reveal two Gestapo officers, a captain and a lieutenant. The Captain reached inside his coat, saying something Carter couldn’t quite hear from where he stood.

He came as close as he needed to to hear their conversation. The gist of it seemed to be the Captain had orders he needed Colonel Klink to sign—to prove he’d done what he’d needed to—, and Schultz had orders not to disturb the Kommandant needlessly. In the past, such a clash of orders would already be settled because Schultz was not usually the sort of guy to argue anything with the Gestapo. Now, it looked as though Schultz had no intention of giving in. 

The Captain could do whatever it was he’d come to do, but it would have to be on Schultz’s terms or not at all. It was obvious that the Captain didn’t appreciate being ordered around by an enlisted man and was swiftly losing patience. 

There was no reason to stand around and wait for that to happen. The thing to do was to go get Colonel Hogan before Schultz got himself in serious trouble. With any luck, the Colonel would be in his office and easy to find. 

* * *

As much as Hogan disliked admitted defeat, he had to admit that he was stumped. As far as he could tell after a careful study of the stacks of cards lined up on the desk, his options were limited: he could start over, or he could cheat. While cheating at solitaire ultimately made the game into a needlessly complex card sorting exercise, starting over at this point seemed like such a waste of time. Yes, he was trying to pass the time until those Gestapo officers from Berlin arrived, but setting up the game from scratch would be tedious.

He had never been particularly suited for tedium. _Besides_ , he thought, peeking at the cards under the first stack, _sometimes, the only way to win_ is _to cheat._ It was certainly a principle he’d applied to his operations here more than once. Sportsmanship meant very little to a saboteur--what mattered were results. 

He’d finally found a card buried in the third stack that would allow the game to proceed and had been about it to pull it free when he heard a knock on the door. He set the pile back down to finish the maneuver later. It wasn’t so much that he cared if someone else knew he cheated at solitaire; he just didn’t like the idea of being caught at it. “Come in!”

The door opened a second later, and Carter quickly stepped through it. “Colonel, there’s more Gestapo here!”

A little earlier than expected, if these were the ones who were _supposed_ to be coming by. Frankly, with the way the day had gone so far, Hogan wouldn’t have been surprised if these latest arrivals weren’t connected to Colonel Schmidt at all. “Were there two of them?”

"That's what it looked like." Carter sounded confused. “How’d you know?”

“Heard about them over the bug.” Hogan smiled. “They’re just here to collect General Adler’s things and bring them back to Berlin. I don’t expect any trouble from them.”

“Well, they’re out there arguing with Schultz right now,” Carter countered. “Schultz doesn’t want to let them in to see Klink, and they’re starting to look hot about it.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising. Hadn’t he just been thinking that Schultz had a spine? Unfortunately, it seemed that tapping into that resource was robbing the Sergeant of his sense of self-preservation. Apparently, along with all the other things Hogan had to concern himself with, he had to take some time out to save Schultz from himself. “Okay, let’s go see what’s happening.”

They found Sergeant Schultz on the first step of the stairs to the Office Building, blocking the two Gestapo officers in front of him from gaining entrance. He looked nervous, but it was clear from his stance that he planned on standing there all day if he had to. 

As Hogan approached them from the side, he could see that Carter had been right to get him. While the Lieutenant Ziegler seemed deeply bored by the proceedings, Captain Bauer’s face was flushed and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. 

“... is expecting us,” Bauer was saying with the slow cadence that indicated his opinion of the Sergeant’s intelligence was low and getting lower by the second. He took a deep breath and grimaced something that was probably meant to be a smile. “Surely, he can spare a moment to sign my orders—he can’t be _that_ indisposed!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Schultz said, his tone was calm, patient, though the fear in his expression was imperfectly masked. He stood up a bit straighter, his hand tightening around the strap of his rifle. “You can do what you’ve come here to do, but Colonel Klink _is_ indisposed.”

Judging by the way the Captain was clenching his jaw, the man was at the limit of his patience. Time to step in and work that Hogan charm! Quickly, he sidled up to Schultz. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he began with a bright smile, “but I think I’ve got the solution for you.”

As expected, Bauer was caught off-guard by the abrupt intrusion. “What? Who are you?” The fact that he merely sounded impatient now rather than impatient and angry was a definite improvement.

“Colonel Hogan. I’m the Senior POW around here.” He touched the brim of his hat in lieu of a salute. “You only need to see the Kommandant to get your orders signed, right?” At Bauer’s slow nod, Hogan grinned. “Well, you don’t need the Iron Eagle for _that_ —just have his secretary do it for you.” He turned his grin into a conspiratorial smile. “From what I understand, Fraulein Hilda is the one who signs all his paperwork anyway.”

“It’s true!” Schultz chimed in far too enthusiastically. “She does!” 

Bauer narrowed his eyes at Schultz then frowned in thought. He huffed a small sigh. “Very well. Anything to get out of this place and back to Berlin.” He turned to the Lieutenant. “Give him our papers.” 

Ziegler reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, folded bundle. Wordlessly, he held it out for Schultz to take. 

After Schultz took it and read the orders, he nodded. “I’ll go get this signed for you.” He went up the stairs with no small amount of speed, and Hogan worried that the man was going to trip over his feet. Luckily, he made it through the door without any difficulties. 

Leaving Hogan alone with the Gestapo officers. He considered beating a retreat, perhaps throwing off a pithy remark or some back-handed compliment that wouldn’t be understood as an insult until he was long gone. Ultimately, he decided he ought to stick around at least until Schultz came back—just in case the two officers decided to wander off.

While they were unlikely to cause trouble, General Adler had made Hogan wary of letting unknown agents wander off on their own.

“Colonel Hogan, was it?” asked Bauer. Once Hogan had confirmed this, the Captain looked him over with clear appraisal—while the Captain’s appraisal was merely calculating, the action made Hogan think of the way Adler had raked over him with his eyes. “I expected you to be taller.”

Hogan shrugged, turning up his charm as he buried his sudden discomfort. “I get that a lot.”

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes but said nothing.

The Captain glanced around. “We’re always getting reports about you from Major Hochstetter.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” Hogan said. “Major Hochstetter needs a hobby.” 

“He does seem to have quite the imagination,” Bauer agreed. Another calculated look. “Still, one cannot deny that this area is quite the... hotbed of activity.” 

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Hogan said mildly. “I don’t get out much.” Time to get the subject off of himself! He rubbed his chin in faux thought. “Did you go visit him before coming to us?” 

Bauer tilted his head, puzzled. “Why would we? Nothing we’re doing should be of any interest to him.”

“Funny you should say that,” Hogan said in his best conversational tone. “Major Hochstetter was here earlier. Said that Colonel Schmidt put him in charge of General Adler’s things.”

“He said what?” Bauer demanded, outraged. “Colonel Schmidt put _me_ in charge of this!”

That did the trick. Hogan had to hide a grin. “Not to worry, though. Colonel Klink didn’t let Hochstetter take anything—he’s far too clever to fall for something like that. Though,” he added, figuring that the man deserved whatever trouble he got, “the Major was very pushy about it.”

Ziegler, for the first time in this conversation, came alive. “Colonel Schmidt told us Major Hochstetter could be trouble,” he said, sounding almost wistful. 

Bauer’s expression indicated that something that had been said was troubling him, but before he could share whatever thing he had peculating in his mind, Schultz hurried back down the stairs, nearly knocking into Hogan in his haste. Schultz held the folded papers out for the pair to take. “Here you are, Captain Bauer. All signed.”

Bauer nodded to the Lieutenant, and the Lieutenant took the papers from Schultz. He glanced at them, then nodded at Bauer. “Have General Adler’s belongings been packed yet?”

Seeing the conversation turning to banalities, Hogan slipped away. He doubted there would be any further problems. As he walked back the barracks, he sensed that he wasn’t alone. He turned his head and, sure enough, there was Carter walking just behind him. 

Carter’s eyes were downcast and he was frowning deeply. It was strange to see the usually so happy-go-lucky munitions man look so unhappy and solemn. Seeming to notice Hogan’s scrutiny, he looked up. His hands twitched at his sides. “Are you,” the words were tight and small, and he cleared his throat. “Are you busy, Colonel?” Not giving Hogan a chance to reply, he went on: “Only, there’s something I’ve got to know, and you’re the only one who can tell me, so, are you busy, Colonel?”

Frankly, Hogan was concerned by how nervous and worried Carter sounded. Two Colonels in less than thirty seconds? That couldn’t mean anything good. Wilson could wait a little longer. “What’s your question, Sergeant?”

After glancing around, Carter shook his head. “Can we talk in your office?”

The fact that Carter wanted to keep the question, and the answer to it, away from prying ears and eyes likely meant that whatever the Sergeant wanted to talk about, it was something serious. Or, at the very least, something Carter _thought_ was serious—the two things didn’t always overlap in Hogan’s experience. Still, if what ever it was was bothering the munitions man enough to make him be _this_ nervous and worried about it, it was probably worth taking care of. “Of course.”

Once they were in his office, Hogan sat down in the chair near the desk and offered Carter the bunk which was declined with a curt shake of his head. “All right,” Hogan said after letting the silence stretch a few seconds, “what’s this about?”

Carter bit his lip, then he took a deep breath and looked Hogan squarely in the eyes. “I know Kinch and Louis asked, and I should have asked, too, but, I was wondering...” he trailed off. Then he half shook his head. “Were you ever going to tell me and Peter about it?”

Hogan frowned. Something that both Kinch and LeBeau had asked about. Okay. What had they both asked about? Oh, right. That could be it. “You mean about why Schultz really came to the barracks Thursday night?”

A look of realization. “Right. I’d heard about that.” Carter’s brow furrowed in thought. “I guess that’s how they knew to ask you anything.”

For a moment, Hogan couldn’t speak. “You didn’t notice Schultz coming into the barracks?” he asked, incredulous. He knew Carter could be unobservant at times, but this was ridiculous!

“I wasn’t there,” Carter explained somewhat defensively. “I was down in the tunnels with Peter all Thursday night, working on uniforms for the mission, so _he_ didn’t know to ask either.” He shrugged. “Peter didn’t know anything about what happened to Klink until I told him this morning, and _I_ didn’t know anything before Louis told me about it after you went out to see if Peter was all right.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “ _Were_ you talking about Klink, too, when you said you needed to see what’d happened to ‘my men’?”

Hogan had to hide his shock. Carter had caught his slip, too? “I was,” he admitted, curious what he’d made of that answer.

“Thought so,” Carter said simply. Then, apparently finished with the digression, he shrugged in a way that was clearly meant to be nonchalant and wasn’t even a little bit. “Anyway, I was just wondering why you didn’t tell us what happened to Klink yourself.”

If he didn’t know better, Hogan would have thought Carter sounded hurt. Surely, there was nothing for the Sergeant to be upset about! As for the question itself, the answer was simple enough. “It slipped my mind.”

Disbelief loomed on the Sergeant’s face. “You forgot Klink got whipped?”

“Of course not.” The sight of Klink looking like he was sprawled out on death’s welcome mat had been indelibly etched into his memory. That being said, he hadn’t actually thought much about the incident in question after he’d secured the Kommandant’s cooperation the day after. Once he’d gotten Klink to agree to work with him, the fact the man had gotten a beating hadn’t affected any of the decisions he’d had to make. “But, if you recall, I had my hands full with the mission.” He shrugged, trying to shake the sudden defensiveness he felt. “What happened to Klink didn’t exactly factor into it.”

Carter was nearly scowling. “And you couldn’t have told me _after_ you were done with the mission?”

Hogan hadn’t missed the change from ‘us’ to ‘me’, leaving him to wonder whether Newkirk was as upset about this as Carter was. Because there was no denying now that Carter was upset about this. But why? Why was this such a sticking point? It was obviously important to him, but Hogan was damned if he could see why. He could feel himself becoming annoyed—both with the Sergeant for making such a fuss over what was a minor bit of information as well as with himself for not being able to figure out _why_ it was so important on his own. “It slipped my mind,” he repeated, keeping his tone patient with effort.

It was clear that, for whatever reason, Carter didn’t believe him. He straightened up to stand at attention. “If it’s about rank, you know I’m a Sergeant, too,” he said, his expression as serious as Hogan ever seen it be. “And, you know I don’t like pulling rank, but I’m actually the Senior Sergeant in this barracks, not Kinch.”

A possible meaning behind the words came to mind, but Hogan couldn’t believe that _that_ was Carter’s problem. Carter had never batted an eye about being subordinate to Kinch before. Besides, considering the young man’s own mixed heritage, that he’d hold Kinch’s against him didn’t make much sense. Of course, he reconsidered grimly, such attitudes didn’t have much to do with sense. And, if that _was_ Carter’s problem, well, the Sergeant wouldn’t be the first hypocrite Hogan had come across.

Still, surely such an issue would have come up earlier than _this_! “You’re objecting to Sergeant Kinchloe’s role in our operation?”

Carter blinked. “Why would I?” he asked in a way that suggested Hogan was crazy to even suggest such a thing.

Maybe Hogan was barking up the wrong tree. He certainly hope so because he didn’t need something so stupid gumming up the works right now. “Do you have a problem with being subordinate to a Negro?”

Carter stared back for several long seconds, incomprehension making way for incredulousness and distress. “No, Colonel.”

“Then what’s your problem with Kinch?” Hogan demanded, relieved by the answer he’d received but losing patience with the guessing game.

“Golly,” Carter said, his eyes wide and wounded, “I don’t have any problem with Kinch. He’s about the nicest, smartest guy I know!”

Welcome news but now Hogan was at a complete loss as to what issue Carter was having. Time to be blunt. “Then why did you bring him up?”

The Sergeant closed his eyes, perhaps collecting his thoughts or trying to keep his temper. Either way, it seemed to be a struggle. “All I meant was,” he said at last with a slow, deliberate cadence, “as a fellow Sergeant, if it’s about rank—and I don’t know that it is, but, if it is—if something’s going on, I ought to be told, too. That’s all.”

It took Hogan a few seconds to parse the statement—an errant image of what its diagram might look like flashing through his mind—but once those few seconds had passed, he was discouraged to find that he hadn’t actually made any progress. He _still_ didn’t know why Carter was making so much of what was really only a minor issue. He also didn’t know what he could say that hadn’t already been said. “It just slipped my mind.” When this latest repetition received no response, he tried a new tact. “It was old news.”

Carter’s face fell. “It wasn’t old news to me,” he insisted quietly. His shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head. While his expression was mostly hidden, Hogan could see enough to tell that the Sergeant was in the midst of some kind of internal debate. When he finally looked up to meet Hogan’s eyes, anger was there, yes, but he seemed more hurt than anything. “Jiminy Crickets, Colonel, don’t you trust me?”

Hogan wasn’t sure which part of the question was the most surreal: the idea he didn’t trust Carter or hearing someone over the age of 25 say ‘Jiminy Crickets’ in complete earnestness. What had brought _this_ on? And where had Carter gotten such a cockamamie notion from! “Of course I trust you,” he said once he’d recovered from his shock. 

“You sure don’t act like you do,” Carter stated, his voice devoid of its usual energy. “You could have told me what was going on when I asked you what kind of trouble Klink got himself into at the start, but you didn’t. Why?”

Apparently, this … whatever this was had been a long time in the making. That morning seemed like such a long time ago now, but he could still remember the reason for his reticence. “The last thing I wanted to do was talk about how the Kommandant had agreed to play the whore to save his skin.”

Carter flinched at the word ‘whore’ but otherwise seemed unimpressed. “That didn’t keep you from telling Kinch about it.”

That was an easy objection to deflect. “ _Kinch_ was the one who had to tell _me_. He was unlucky enough to hear Adler blackmailing Klink first hand.” He smiled his self-depreciating smile. “I didn’t exactly enjoy having that conversation with him; I was in no hurry to have it again with you!” When Carter’s expression showed no sign of softening, Hogan decided he could give him something more. “Besides, I was convinced Kinch was being an alarmist about the whole thing. I figured, since Klink gave Adler what he wanted, that would be the end of it. I didn’t think there would be any reason to bring the mess up again.”

“Fine,” Carter conceded in a way that indicated his supply of objections wasn’t quite exhausted yet, “but what about when you sent me off so you could talk to Kinch about Klink alone? I already knew what was going on by then; why’d you want me to leave?”

Hogan frowned as he realized he didn’t actually have an answer for that question. It’d just seemed like the natural thing to do at the time, to talk to Kinch alone, but he couldn’t honestly say he’d even thought about it _that_ much. But first... His frown deepened. “What makes you think we were going to talk about that?”

Carter squinted at Hogan as though he’d been asked a very stupid question. “I wasn’t _that_ far away when you guys started talking.” A flash of panic. “I didn’t stand around and eavesdrop,” he hastened to add, “but I heard enough to know what you two were talking about.” He shook his head, defeated. “All I can think is either you don’t trust me or you think I’m too simple to be worth talking to.” The question ‘So, which is it?’ went unsaid but was loud and clear. 

The problem was, while the answer was ‘Neither’, Hogan could see only too well now why Carter thought those were the only two options. As much as Carter could be single-minded and naïve, he wasn’t stupid. And, as easy going as he tended to be, he clearly wasn’t immune to feeling slighted. It would be difficult to make the admission he was about to make, but he knew that he couldn’t afford to let something like this fester. Best to just lance the thing and get it over with.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Hogan said, giving himself some time to decide the best way of being honest, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes since this whole mess started. Every time I’ve opened my mouth lately, it’s been to stick my foot in it.”

Carter’s expression was shifting into something less defeated and more disbelieving, but he seemed willing to wait until Hogan was finished before saying anything.

Just as well; this was going to be bad enough without interruptions. “This situation with Klink and Adler, it’s been entirely new territory for me. I’ve been doing a lot more reacting than thinking.” He smiled slightly as an appropriate image came to mind. “When you’re in the middle of flash flood treading water, you grab the first log you can get your hands on. Maybe it’s not the only one, and maybe, if you were thinking, you could use the rope in your pocket to tie a few logs together and make a raft, but I wasn’t thinking.”

Now, Carter looked confused. “Sir?”

“What I mean is,” Hogan went on quickly, not wanting to get bogged down in explaining the metaphor, “I didn’t leave you and Newkirk and LeBeau out: I didn’t remember to let you in. There’s a difference.”

Carter was nodding but it was clear he still had doubts.

Almost. Hogan put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “I trust you with my life; you know that.” He grinned and injected some levity into his tone when he added, “And, if I thought you were stupid, I’d never let you _touch_ our explosives.”

This declaration earned him a thin, hopeful smile. “You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” Hogan said firmly. “We couldn’t do half the things we do around here without you.” He let his hand fall off the Sergeant’s shoulder and realized that there was something more that needed to be said before he let Carter go on his way. While the conversation he would have to have with his core group would certainly be difficult, there was a new difficulty beyond the conversation itself as far as Carter was concerned. “There’s something else, but I want to tell all of you at the same time. That’s the only reason I’m not telling you now.”

Carter frowned a bit, disappointed. Then he nodded with an understanding smile. “Okay, Colonel. I trust you.”

Hogan could tell that Carter was being completely sincere, that there wasn’t a little unsaid barb of ‘Even if you don’t trust _me_ ,’ but that only made it worse. “Thanks, Carter.” He pushed the latest flare of guilt aside. There were more important things to focus on at the moment. “Was there anything else?”

After a moment, Carter nodded. “Yeah, there was.” He shook his head, bewildered. “Sergeant Schultz mentioned something about an eagle causing trouble? Did _you_ notice an eagle, because _I_ didn’t.”

Hogan wasn’t quite able to restrain a short bark of laughter at the unexpectedness of the question. “It’s a codeword for General Adler,” he explained quickly before Carter’s own surprise could become something else. “After Klink got whipped, Schultz came to me to ask for my help.” He smiled conspiratorially. “I told him that the eagle would be flying away soon and that he should just let things run their course.”

“Oh.” Carter seemed to be considering this, then his face fell. “He must think I don’t know _anything_ about what’s been going on.” He scowled for a second then shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter what he knows about what I know.” 

While Hogan wondered how exactly the eagle subject had come up between Schultz and Carter, that wasn’t important just now. “Are we square now?”

Carter nodded. “Thank you, Colonel.” He smiled. “I have to go apologize to Peter.”

Hogan watched him go, then started picking up his game of solitaire. There was really no better time, and he’d be a fool to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Once the cards were safely back inside their worn and flimsy box, he shoved them into his pocket. It was time to take care of business. 

* * *

The silence left in the wake of Carter’s abrupt departure was broken a few moments later. “What’s eating _him_?” Johnson asked no one in particular.

Newkirk pushed away nascent guilt and shrugged. “That’s just Andrew for you: flighty as a bird sometimes, that one is. Works himself up over nothing.”

Foster frowned. “He hasn’t been right since that mission the other night.” He tilted his head to regard Newkirk critically. “Did something go wrong?”

That was putting it mildly. “Nothing worth writing home about,” Newkirk deflected easily. Colonel Hogan had told them to keep mum on the details, and he wasn’t about to start blabbing to these two. The pair had only been transferred to Barracks 2 from Barracks 5 a month ago, and Newkirk hadn’t spent much time getting chummy with them. They pretty much kept to themselves anyway.

In fact, the only reason he’d asked to join their game was because he’d thought Carter would get his mind off his troubles more easily with more players. Which hadn’t quite worked out. 

“It’s your turn to bet,” Johnson reminded him patiently. 

Newkirk debated folding and following after Carter before deciding not to. What was he supposed to say that he hadn’t already said? He pushed two beans into the pot. “Raise.”

The rest of the hand passed pleasantly enough, although, Newkirk maintained that poker was not nearly as much fun without real stakes. However, Johnson flatly refused to make the game interesting on the grounds that he “had lost enough of his next red cross package already.” It was probably for the best anyway—it had been a long time since Newkirk had had to play with a deck he hadn’t memorized.

The next round had just started when Carter came running back into the barracks, then on to the Colonel’s office without acknowledging them in any way. The players had traded confused glances and had been about to continue when Carter and the Colonel came out to leave the way the American Sergeant had come. 

“My, people come and go so _quickly_ here!” Johnson intoned sotto voce. 

“The Wizard of Oz,” Foster said, wistful. “I loved that movie. I must have seen it ten times.”

“I know,” Johnson returned, the annoyance on his face unmatched by the teasing tone he was using. “You kept dragging me to the theater with you.”

Newkirk blinked. It was rare that old friends met up at Stalag 13. Considering the the string of coincidences which would need to take place for that to happen, it was rare to even meet up with members of your old squadron. “You two knew each other before the war?”

Johnson nodded, smiling widely. “We grew up in the same neighborhood after Gene came up to New York from Kansas.”

“Stanley here took me under his wing,” Foster confided with clear fondness. “And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“Even if he _does_ cheat me out of my cigarettes,” Johnson added sourly. 

Foster assumed a wounded expression. “I _never_ cheat.” He waved his free hand dismissively. “It’s not _my_ fault you don’t keep track of cards as well as I do.”

The ensuing argument about whether or not card counting counted as cheating was hitting the same beats it had the _last_ time Newkirk had heard it. He’d opened his mouth to make a comment he hoped would redirect the discussion back to the game at hand, when Colonel Hogan returned to the barracks with a rather nervous looking Carter in tow. The three silently watched the pair disappear into the Colonel’s office. 

“He looks glum,” Johnson observed after a moment. 

Foster’s brow creased with worry. “I hope he’s not in trouble.”

“Not yet,” Newkirk muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed with Andrew or more mortified on his behalf. He’d _told_ that little twit he’d been over-thinking things, and it looked like he was about to go embarrass himself! 

Now, Johnson was frowning, too. “Not yet? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Newkirk said snidely, not bothering to hide his irritation with the question, “he’s just worked himself up over nothing, as I said, and now he’s off to stick his foot in it. Same as always.”

The pair traded skeptical glances. Foster shrugged and pushed another bean into the pot. “Call.”

“Andrew’s not the only one getting worked up lately,” Johnson commented in a way that indicated he had some interesting gossip to share. “You and _Kinch_ were getting pretty heated down in the tunnels the other day, too.” 

Newkirk felt his guts turn to ice. It took all the willpower he had not to immediately demand to know what Johnson had overheard. 

“Really?” Foster shook his head. “I was beginning to think that boy was _incapable_ of yelling.”

Newkirk forced something he hoped looked like a grin onto his face. “Well, what can I say? I can get under _anyone’s_ skin if I put my mind to it.”

As he’d hoped, the comment elicited chuckles from his audience. “What’d you say to rile him up so much?” Foster asked, his eyes alight with humor. “I want to make sure I never say it myself.”

“Trade secret,” Newkirk declared with as much bravado he could muster, tapping the side of his nose. 

Foster turned his gaze to Johnson, beseeching. “What did he say?”

Johnson shook his head, smiling. “When you hear two fellas having an argument like that, the gentlemanly thing to do is... find somewhere _else_ to be.” His smile widened into a grin. “ _I_ happen to like my hide right where it is, thank you.” Then he looked down at his cards, looked at the pot, and pushed two beans in. “Raise.”

While not confirmation that Johnson hadn’t heard anything he shouldn’t have, it was at least a comfort to know that, if he had, he knew better than to share it. Newkirk let himself relax as he met Johnson’s bet.

“Colonel Hogan was pretty worked up earlier, too,” Foster declared, having evidently decided to expand the topic. He gestured to Johnson, as though for back up. “We could hear him shouting through his office door—not sure what it was about, but, whatever it was, it was a doozy.”

Johnson nodded, a sudden sympathetic expression on his face. “I felt sorry for Kinch for being on the receiving end of _that_.”

Newkirk felt his eyes narrow. While the Colonel _did_ lose his temper from time to time, it was a fairly rare occurrence that he actually started shouting. And at Kinch? He and Kinch usually saw eye-to-eye, and Newkirk couldn’t recall Hogan ever actually shouting at the Sergeant for anything. “When did that happen?”

“Not long before you and Carter came up to play cards, actually.” Foster’s lips quirked up. “We warned Baker before he went in there to get the Colonel, and neither the Colonel or Kinch looked too happy when they came out.” He hesitated. “Not that they’ve been in great moods lately anyway.”

“And they’re not the only ones.” Johnson lips flattened into a thoughtful line before he nodded to himself. “The point is the _lot_ you have been getting worked up lately. I don’t think you should be so hard on Andrew for getting worked up, too.”

Newkirk’s first instinct was to retort that it was none of their business how hard he was on Andrew, but that same guilt from earlier held him back. It wasn’t as though Johnson and Foster were wrong—this last week had had everyone on edge. But for Carter to actually think that the governor didn’t _trust_ him? 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time the munitions man had been stupid about something. 

He let out a long breath. “Maybe you’re right.” His gaze drifted over to the Colonel’s office. Their conversation seemed to be taking much longer than Newkirk had thought it would. Still, he knew Hogan wouldn’t be _too_ hard on Carter. Then again, apparently, the Colonel had yelled at _Kinch_ , so maybe he would be. As Johnson had noted, everyone was on edge—including the governor.

Johnson smiled. “Of course we are.”

“Carter seems like the forgiving sort to me,” Foster added. 

_That_ much was definitely true. “Too forgiving sometimes.” In his less charitable moments, when he was irritated with the American’s naivete, Newkirk would think that maybe Carter was too simple to hold grudges. Other times, he understood that Carter was just a better person than he was. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for the overwrought sentimentality. “You going to bet, Johnson, or just keep smirking at me?”

It wasn’t too much later when Carter emerged from the Colonel’s office, practically beaming. Clearly, whatever had happened in there hadn’t gone as badly as Newkirk had feared it would. The Sergeant came back to the table, smiling shyly. “You fellas still have a place for me?” 

Johnson nodded. “Just let us finish this hand, and we’ll deal you right in.”

Carter retook his old seat. “Peter, you were right. I’m sorry I got so hot about it.”

How easily the American apologized! Newkirk shook his head. “I could have been a little more patient,” he admitted quickly before his pride could stop him. He looked to Foster, uncomfortable with the look of pleased surprise Carter was giving him. “Call.”

Foster grinned. “Full house!”

As Johnson grumbled about Foster’s card counting, Newkirk noticed the Colonel coming out of his office, noted he wasn’t heading in their direction, and returned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Excuse me, mate,” he said as Foster reached over for the beans, “but I think you’ll find,” he splayed his cards out on the table, “that a royal flush beats a full house.”


	87. Asking and Telling

* * *

_He hugged her close, delighting in her soft curves and womanly smell. All the struggles and hardships they'd endured, all of the pains and trials they'd suffered, all of it had been worth it to enjoy this single moment. And this moment was only the first of many such moments._

_“I love you,” he whispered , his lips touching her hair._

_She turned her head to smile up at him, adoringly. “I love you more.”_

_He smiled back. “I love you most.” He kissed her deeply as the ship sailed into the setting sun._

_The End_

Wilson closed the book before setting it down beside him on the bunk. The slim volume hadn’t been anything to write home about, but it had been so long since he’d had a chance to read fiction in English that he’d devoured it eagerly. He’d read it one more time before he passed it on to the next fellow on the list, taking it a littler slower so he could savor it. One of the advantages of being a fast reader was he could do that without anyone getting antsy for their turn.

At the moment though, he had nowhere in particular to be and nothing in particular he had to do. He considered joining the game Newkirk was playing with Johnson and Foster, but seeing Carter come to join them, decided he wasn’t in the mood for that much company. Instead, he lay back on the bunk, lacing his fingers behind his head. Getting an extra wink or two before lunch certainly wouldn’t do him any harm! He closed his eyes.

A few moments later, he heard a door open and close followed closely by the steady approach of measured footsteps. Although he hoped he wasn’t the ultimate destination, he knew with utmost certainty he was. Because _of course_ he would be. He was proven correct seconds later. 

“You have a minute, Wilson?”

Colonel Hogan. While the tone was friendly, Wilson’s heart sank a little anyway. These days, it seemed as though the Colonel only had one reason to speak with him, and while he sympathized with the troubles the Commandant was having, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing him again quite so soon! “For you, sir?” he said, doing his best to match the Colonel’s tone. “Always.” He opened his eyes and sat up. “It’s not another house call, is it?”

To his relief, Hogan shook his head. His relief immediately fled at his next words. “I’d like to talk to you in my office about your medical experience.”

There was no strange inflection or emphasis to the words, but Wilson knew exactly what he was talking about. Wilson nodded as he stood, feeling his mouth drying up already. They’d taught him, back in training, how to withstand enemy interrogations. He wondered if the same rules applied when the person conducting the interrogation was your superior officer. Having seen the Colonel in action, he wasn’t looking forward to being on the opposing side. But that was the risk he’d taken when he’d agreed to help. He’d known it could come to this eventually.

Might as well accept his fate with some dignity.

Once they were in Hogan’s office with the door shut behind them, the Colonel offered Wilson a seat on the bunk, which Wilson declined. He was feeling intimidated enough as it was without Hogan looking down on him.

Shrugging, Hogan took the spot for himself. He settled into his seat, then looked up at Wilson with a coolly professional expression. “You told me the other night that you were the sort of medic a guy could go to with injuries that could get him a court marshal from a doctor.”

Yes, and Wilson had been kicking himself for his candor ever since. Still, there was little point in denying that much. He nodded once. 

Hogan set his hands on top of his thighs, leaning forward as he did so. “What I want to know is whether you’re still in business here.”

What would the Colonel do if he didn’t admit it? Would he be believed if he lied? His window for lying was quite small: if he was going to make the attempt... he should have made it already. He bowed his head. Damn it. He supposed it didn’t matter: it was obvious that Hogan already knew. What he was really after was equally obvious. 

Wilson squared his shoulders. His own position was relatively secure, so he wasn’t too worried about the reprisals he would personally receive. Others here, however, were not nearly so secure. “My work is confidential, Colonel,” he said, sounding far more firm and in control than he felt. “I’m not giving you names.”

A brief twitch of the lips. “I’d expected nothing less.” Then the Colonel leaned back a bit and considered him, his gaze clearly searching for something. After a few silent seconds, he’d either found what he’d been looking for or had given up the search. “Tell me why.” Apparently noting Wilson’s confusion, he elaborated, “Why are you breaking regulations to offer aid to those men?”

Oh. Wilson supposed he should have expected this question—it wouldn’t even be the first time this week he’d been asked it and by a Colonel to boot!—but he wasn’t sure how he ought to answer this time. When it came right down to it, he didn’t want to be as honest with Colonel Hogan as he’d been with Colonel Klink.

If someone had told him a week ago that he’d willingly tell the truth the Commandant and lie to his commander, he wouldn’t have believed it. But here he was, about to do just that. Then again, Klink wasn’t in any position to court marshal him. Then again again, the Commandant _could_ have him shot easily enough, if he wanted to.

“Well?”

Wilson shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to be wool-gathering! He had some lying to do! “I don’t think we’re in any position to turn away able-bodied men who want to fight just because we don’t like how they handle lonely nights.” He hoped his smile didn’t look as nervous as it felt as he noted the distinct lack of change in the Colonel’s expression. “And, well, let’s just say that the homosexuals I treated rarely came to me with venereal diseases they’d picked up from the local girls.”

To his surprise, the Colonel chuckled. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” His mirth faded away, replaced with something thoughtful. “That’s a fair point, Sergeant—we can’t be too picky. We certainly can’t afford to create enemies out of allies.” He rubbed his chin. “And it _would_ be for the best if _everyone_ under my command was at a hundred percent.”

Frankly, Wilson was stunned that Hogan seemed so pragmatic about this. In his experience, most men in the Colonel’s position allowed their personal feelings of disgust or disapproval color their thinking. Whatever Hogan’s personal feelings on the subject, he at least wasn’t dismissing Wilson’s point out of hand. Quite the contrary, it seemed! “Does that mean I can stay in business?”

Hogan’s hands slipped into his jacket pockets as he looked upwards. “If I know you, Sergeant—and I like to think I do—, you’ll try to ‘stay in business’ regardless of what I say now.” He glanced at Wilson out of the corner of his eye. “Am I wrong?”

There seemed little harm at this point in admitting that. “No, sir.” While the implication of the Colonel’s words thus far was fairly clear, Wilson wanted to make sure he wasn’t just succumbing to a bout of wishful thinking. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

A slow head shake. “I don’t want to make an enemy out of an ally, Wilson.” He smiled, sardonic. “I don’t need to be fighting you _and_ the Germans.” Then he closed his eyes, his expression indicating he’d come to a tough decision. “Unofficially, you have my blessing to keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

This scenario was turning out so much better than anything Wilson had dared hope. There had to be some kind of trap, and after a moment, he realized what it was. Though anger sliced through him, he managed to keep his tone measured and calm. He wouldn’t do it, of course, but he wanted to hear the Colonel say that _that_ was what he was after. “In exchange for knowing who I’m treating.”

The Colonel shook his head. “As long as everyone is doing what he’s supposed to, I don’t need to know.”

“Not even for security’s sake?” Wilson was aware his voice was becoming high pitched with his incredulousness, but he couldn’t help it. This conversation was going nothing like he’d imagined it would, and he was having a difficult time deciding just what to make of that. If Hogan _was_ trying to trick him somehow, he was going about it all the wrong way—this was so implausible Wilson would have to be a fool to fall for it.

To his utter astonishment, the Colonel laughed. “Wilson, up until Kinch brought up the idea you might still be treating people here, I hadn’t had any reason to give homosexuals at Stalag 13 any thought—if nothing else, these men you’re treating know how to keep a secret!” He shook his head, his expression sobering. “Not everyone will see it that way—least of all my superiors.” His eyes locked onto Wilson’s, his stare almost cold. “I’m going to level with you,” he said, his steely tone matching his eyes, “if I were to find proof that someone under my command was a homosexual, I’d have to deal with it.” Then his expression softened, and he smiled wearily. “I’d rather _not_ have to deal with it.”

Hiding was no new hardship for Wilson and his compatriots. Frankly, he was thrilled that Colonel Hogan was being _this_ permissive when he’d expected so much worse. “I understand, sir.”

“There _is_ the issue of blackmail to be concerned with,” Hogan continued. “If you learn of anything like that happening here, I want to be informed.” He held up his hand, as though anticipating the protest Wilson had been about to make. “It’ll be off the record, and I’ve never accepted the say so of a blackmailer as _proof_ of _anything_.”

Wilson nodded. The terms were more than fair considering what was in the Colonel’s power to do. “Thank you, sir.” Then he realized something fundamental about this entire conversation didn’t make sense. If the Colonel had had no interest in knowing whom he was treating, why did he care if he was actually still treating anyone in the first place? “Why did you want to know whether or not I was still in business?”

Hogan smirked. “I like to think I’m at least nominally in charge around here, and that means knowing what’s happening with the men under my command.” Then the smile fell, and he seemed pensive. “Wilson, I’m sorry.”

“Sir?” It wasn’t unheard of to receive an apology from Colonel Hogan, but it was rare that the man actually had to apologize. Also, Wilson couldn’t think of anything Hogan had done to him which would warrant an apology. 

“Before, when you suggested Klink might have battle fatigue, I didn’t take you seriously.”

Wilson wasn’t certain what surprised him more: that the Colonel thought he had to apologize for that, or that he sounded so down about it. Of course, Wilson hadn’t appreciated having his opinion brushed off, but it _had_ only been his opinion, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t understand _why_ the Colonel might find the idea hard to swallow. There was a reason he hadn’t used the term ‘battle fatigue’ himself!

While the causes of gross stress reactions were varied, ‘battle fatigue’ brought to mind only those cases of boys who’d had one too many close calls, who’d seen one too many of his comrades killed, who’d heard and felt one too many mortar shells. It was no wonder the Colonel had dismissed the idea: the Commandant wasn’t at the front, and no one was shooting at him. 

_Then again,_ Wilson reconsidered, _thanks to Colonel Hogan’s activities at Stalag 13 and the surrounding area, Klink probably sees more ‘action’ than most Stalag Commandants._

In any event, Colonel Hogan was clearly expecting a response, and it wouldn’t do to deny him one. “That’s all right, sir.”

Hogan was shaking his head. “You’re a member of my team. Even if I don’t buy what you’re selling, I shouldn’t dismiss what you have to say out of hand.” He was frowning now, clearly considering something distasteful. “Were any of the men you’ve treated—were any of them like Klink?”

_Were any of them raped, you mean._ Wilson wondered why the Colonel was being so circumspect—from what he’d said the other night, Hogan hadn’t seemed to doubt _that_ fact about Klink’s case. “One,” he said, seeing the young man in his mind’s eye: a Corporal who’d had the bad luck to seem just a little too _strange_ for someone’s taste. “Luckily, one of his friends knew about me, and I was able to help him. If he’d gone to the authorities, they might have thought he was a homosexual and discharged him.”

Hogan’s eyes narrowed with confusion. “He wasn’t?”

Wilson blinked. “No. He wasn’t, and neither was the man who raped him.”

While there was no mistaking the Colonel’s skeptical expression, he sounded merely curious when he asked, “How did you know?”

How to explain without revealing too much? “Those of us in the community—or, ah, _close_ to the community, like I am—tend to keep tabs on who _is_ and _isn’t_ part of that community.” He shrugged, hoping his slip had gone unnoticed. 

“Was it a deprivation case?”

“I don’t think so,” Wilson said when he was sure he could say it without sounding angry. There _were_ men who turned to each other when they couldn’t bear being alone any longer who could be considered ‘emergency’ or ‘deprivation’ cases rather than actual homosexuals, but what had happened to that Corporal hadn’t been anything so romantic. “From the way he told it, the man who did it wanted to punish him for thinking he belonged in ‘this man’s army’.”

The Colonel actually looked a little green. “I see. Nothing like that’s happened _here_ , has it?”

Wilson shook his head.

Hogan pursed his lips, unhappy but determined. “If something like that _does_ happen here, I want to be informed—I might not want to be too picky, but I don’t need anyone like Adler in _my_ ranks.”

“Understood, sir.” Wilson knew he shouldn’t ask the question—he’d gotten more than he’d any right to expect as it was and asking anything else was pushing his luck—but he had to know. “Does it bother you? Having homosexuals under your command, I mean.”

For several long, uncomfortable seconds, Hogan only stared, his expression unreadable. “A lot of things bother me, Wilson,” he said at last, his tone a good match for his now sagging shoulders, “but I can’t let my personal discomfort be a deciding factor in the choices I make. Not anymore.” He shook his head as though clearing it. “Besides,” he continued, his tone becoming sharp and almost flippant, “compared to what Adler was doing to Klink, worrying about how some men want to ‘handle their lonely nights’ seems petty.” He offered Wilson a weary smile. “I trust you know what you’re doing. If you thought I needed to know, you’d have told me.” 

The disappointment he felt over Hogan’s implicit distaste for having homosexuals under his command was overwhelmed by the pride he felt over the Colonel’s explicit statement of trust in him. It was quite the responsibility. One that Wilson wasn’t certain he’d earned. Still, he managed to return the Colonel’s smile. “Of course, Sir.” 

“We’re going to be getting the medical drop you asked for a little early,” Hogan stated as he stood, his whole manner as though they hadn’t just had the conversation they’d just had. “I think London wants to make things up to us a little—and they’ve promised to send intel on what to do with Klink.”

Considering the fact that they were technically giving aid and comfort to the enemy, even for Colonel Hogan, this seemed awfully cavalier. “You told them about Klink?”

Hogan’s smile was crafty. “I did, but I didn’t tell them _he’s_ the one I want to help. I made up someone _else_ Adler had managed to corner that we couldn’t send home.” He seemed momentarily troubled, but it was gone so quickly, Wilson wasn’t certain he’d actually seen it. “They told me they don’t send men away from the front for battle fatigue anymore anyway, and that any medic can implement the treatment plan.”

Wilson stood up a little taller. “I like to think I’m not just _any_ medic,” he mock complained.

This earned a round of guffaws. “Of _that_ , I’ve never had any doubts!”


	88. Burning the 2300 Oil

It wasn’t the fact that he’d woken up in a cold sweat that Klink hated most; it was the fact he was becoming accustomed to the occurrence. He put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating far too quickly, and tried to catch his breath even as he recovered mentally from the nightmare. 

Why was he having nightmares about this? He supposed he ought to be grateful that his subconscious had latched onto something that hadn’t actually happened, but it was difficult to feel gratitude when this was the second night in a row that he’d dreamed of Captain Richter putting a bullet in his head. And, unlike most of the nightmares he’d had lately, this one didn’t fade away once he woke up. Instead, it hung around on the edges of his thoughts, encroaching on them. 

Worse than the nightmare itself (or waking up from it!) was the soft, insidious voice in the back of his mind which wondered if he would have been better off it Richter _had_ shot him. 

Shaking his head (his whole, undamaged head), Klink pushed himself out of bed. There would be no more sleeping until his body was less alert and the echos of the nightmare were less loud. He threw his robe on over his bed clothes, located his slippers, and headed out for the kitchen. Maybe some tea would help settle him.

He’d set up the tea kettle on the stove and had been about to sit down at the table when he realized he hadn’t lit the gas under the burner. A simple mistake that could be dangerous if left uncorrected. He reached for the box of matches. A vision of sitting down and waiting for the room to fill with gas entered his mind, and he felt tempted. It wouldn’t be a very quick death, but it would be fairly painless—

Klink’s mouth felt dry, and he fumbled with the matches with trembling hands. No. No, he wasn’t considering this. There was no _reason_ to consider this. There was no need for him to end his life now that Adler was out of it. He was still here and Adler wasn’t. Surely, that was a reason to keep living!

Of course it was. Of course.

The gas wouldn’t light and it took him a moment longer than it should have to notice that he hadn’t even turned on the gas in the first place. The issue was quickly corrected, and a few seconds later, flames licked the bottom of the kettle. Then there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

Idly toying with his fingers (his unbroken fingers), Klink tried not to think about anything. He failed, of course. There was too much weighing on his mind for it to be otherwise. What was weighing most heavily at the moment was the decision he’d made. He had to wonder—assuming the matter _wasn’t_ moot once he’d told Hogan what he had to tell him—how would Hogan react when Klink told him he’d found the bug in his office.

Would Hogan admit to putting the device in there? Would he try to deny he’d had anything to do with it? Or, more insultingly, would the American attempt to play off the thing as some innocent object that Klink had somehow managed to _mistake_ for a listening device?

Most of all, he had to wonder how Hogan would react to his demand that he be allowed to help. If the man had any sense at all, he’d turn Klink down. Klink would turn himself down in Hogan’s place. What did _he_ have to offer Hogan, really? What skills could he come up with? He could fly an airplane, sure, but this camp was _filled_ with men who could fly airplanes—men who were, to be frank, closer to their prime than he was. 

Not that he imagined a primarily underground group did much flying. 

But what did that leave? His fine oratory skills? His ability to balance budget books? A passable talent with the violin? Or, perhaps, Hogan’s outfit was in need of a veteran waltzer. 

Each addition to his list felt more humiliating than the last. Klink propped his chin up in upturned hands. Maybe he should just pretend he’d never seen the thing and stick it back on the wall himself. It wasn’t too late to do that. That was probably what he ought to do. He already knew he had nothing of value to offer: did he really need Hogan to tell him so personally?

No, but Klink had had his fill of playing games with Adler and his fill of ‘pulling the wool over his own eyes’ for Hogan. He wasn’t going to do either anymore if he could help it. Although, he probably wouldn’t be able to help it. There was the chance (the firm likelihood) that Hogan would turn him down and force him to return to his prior role of fool and puppet—after all, why fix a system that had worked so beautifully up to this point!

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth, but Klink thought he’d be able to accept that fate so long as he had the comfort of knowing that he’d made the effort to be more.

The tea kettle’s whistle broke his concentration and made him jump. Then he busied himself with the business of making tea, giving the mundane task his full attention. Once he was finished, he decided to remain in the kitchen; it was one of the few places left in his quarters that Adler had never entered. As far as he knew. A shudder went through him at the thought.

He sat back at the table and nursed his tea, turning his thoughts away from Adler as best he could. Having not looked at the clock in the living room, he didn’t know what time it was, but he could tell he hadn’t been asleep very long. He’d gone to bed shortly after lights out: the day’s events and revelations had left him weary, and he’d been looking forward to getting some sleep. The only reason he’d stayed up as late as he had was that he’d fully expected Hogan to drop in regardless of Klink’s orders sending him away—it would hardly have been the first time the American had ignored his orders!—and he hadn’t wanted to have that inevitable discussion while dressed in his bedclothes and barely awake. 

But Hogan hadn’t shown.

While Klink was pleased Hogan had actually heeded his orders—for once!—, he had to admit to being disappointed as well. Considering the fact the man had a tunnel into his quarters, Klink telling Hilda to send him on his way wouldn’t prove much of an obstacle if Hogan was determined to see him. Or, to put it succinctly, if the American wanted to see him badly enough, he’d have come to see him. _Ipso facto_.

Klink felt foolish for feeling even slightly hurt by the implication and doubly foolish for the disappointment. Was he truly stupid enough to _want_ Hogan to invite himself into his quarters when the _thought_ of Hogan actually doing so made his breath catch in his throat? Besides, he knew full well that if Hogan _had_ come, disregarding his wishes, he’d be upset that what he’d wanted had mattered so little to the man. So, what right did he have to feel even a little unhappy that Hogan hadn’t come?

He drank his tea without tasting it as he reminisced. He missed the old days (and wasn’t it strange to consider barely a week ago ‘the old days’!) when he at least _thought_ he’d understood what he’d wanted from the Senior POW. He’d been mistaken about what he’d _really_ wanted as it turned out, but at least he hadn’t had to feel uncertain and flustered every time he spoke with him or thought about him.

It used to be simple. Pathetic in retrospect, but simple. 

But now... it was still pathetic, but it certainly wasn’t simple! 

Here Klink was, feeling like he’d been jilted when he didn’t even know what he _wanted_ from the man anymore. Did he still want Hogan’s friendship? Or was he fooling himself by thinking that’s all he’d ever wanted? In either case, it seemed impossible, and not just because of what would happen once Klink told Hogan how he’d been used.

Too much had changed too quickly, and Klink was lagging far, far behind. He’d learned too much about the American—enough to realize that he’d never _really_ known anything about Hogan at all—and about himself—enough to realize he’d never known the important things about himself either—to have any idea of how to feel about the Senior POW. 

Of course, there weren’t only his own feelings to consider either. Even if he took Hogan at his word, that his interest in Klink’s welfare was born out of some sort of fondness for him, Klink didn’t know what that meant or what Hogan’s interest actually was. He didn’t know what the American wanted from _him_. 

Or what he _wanted_ the American to want from him.

His grip on the teacup tightened. None of these thoughts were new. Why his mind insisted on bringing up the same questions, the same concerns, the same fears over and over again, in a never-ending loop, Klink couldn’t fathom. It would be one thing if any of it were productive, but none of it was. All that thinking never helped him see a new side of the situation or new way of dealing with the issues. It was pure perseveration at this point, and he needed to stop. 

Dealing with Hogan was bound to be difficult enough without being worried about Hogan’s _feelings_. Or his own feelings, for that matter. His face grew hot with embarrassment. This was ridiculous. While it was true that he had very little in the way of dignity left, he owed it to himself to at least _try_ not to act like some kind of lovelorn teenager!

Klink took a deep breath and set the teacup down before he could throw it. The sound of the cup making contact with its saucer echoed reprovingly in the small space, but he didn’t look to see if he’d chipped them. The fact that he hadn’t broken another teacup was victory enough. A petty victory, perhaps, but he was willing to take any victory at this point. 

He’d stood with the intention of going back to bed—best to quit without regrets!—when the door opened and in walked a visibly worried Colonel Hogan.

Immediately, Hogan favored him with a relieved grin. “There you are! I was starting to think you’d flown the coop.”

For several long seconds, Klink could only stare. When he was finally able to summon up words, they were full of exasperated incredulousness tinged with terror. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” It was probably the least consequential question he could have asked, but he was at a loss. He’d imagined Hogan breaking into his quarters, but he hadn’t thought the man would actually do it!

The prisoner looked at his watch, as though Klink’s question had been in earnest. “2243,” he reported. His grin softened a bit, showing a few less teeth. “You were so popular today, I figured I ought to wait until you shouldn’t be expecting any more visitors.” Then his smile became crafty. “Besides, it’s not like you can kick me out at this time of night.”

The reminder of how little protection Klink currently had was unwelcome and unnecessary. He considered his chances of making it passed the prisoner and through the door into the living room and decided that 1) he’d never be able to manage it and, 2) even if he managed it, he’d be caught in seconds. He sat down at the table, taking the small amount of protection having the table between them afforded him, and considered how he was going to handle this.

What Klink wanted to do was insist that Hogan leave his quarters this instant as loudly as he dared to without drawing the attention of the patrolling guards outside. While a part of him _had_ wanted Hogan to turn up, this blatant disregard of his wishes and disrespect for his privacy was turning out to be just as galling (and frightening) as he’d expected. 

“Sir?”

However, as much as Klink wanted to start shouting, he knew he couldn’t. He was uncomfortably aware of just how little authority he had over this man. And, while he didn’t think Hogan would actually hit him if he started making a fuss, he knew better than to think that making a fuss would be enough to convince Hogan to leave before he’d planned. He settled for a snide, “And what was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“I wanted to see how you were holding up,” Hogan returned, sounding almost hurt. “Sure. Schultz said you were doing all right, but I wanted to see you with my own eyes and make that call myself.”

Despite his efforts not to be, Klink felt touched by Hogan’s apparent concern. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine,” he said brusquely, forcing his sentimentality down. “But I’m sure that’s not the _only_ reason you’re here.”

Hogan sat down at the table without being invited to do so. His smile was apologetic. “Okay, I’ll level. There is another reason for my visit.”

_Of course there is._ “What is it?”

A careless shrug. “From what Newkirk tells me, you fellows had quite the adventure on Grafweg the other night, topped off with a morning enjoying Major Hochstetter’s hospitality.” A sympathetic smile. “Must have been rough.”

If there had been a question in there, Klink hadn’t heard it. “It wasn’t fun,” he admitted, seeing no point in denying that much. When Hogan didn’t comment and merely continued to stare, Klink bowed his head to gaze down at his hands as they fiddled with the sash of the bathrobe. 

Finally, Hogan sighed. “Come on, Klink. You know I hate being ignored.”

The informality rankled still, but in light of the fact that Klink could hardly claim he was in charge of _anything_ anymore—least of all Hogan!—, he let it pass without comment. “What did Corporal Newkirk tell you?” he asked his hands.

“Just the bare bones of the matter.” A pause. “Newkirk couldn’t catch enough of what was being said to understand why Adler was shot, but he figured Adler must have egged the captain on somehow.” Another pause. “I was hoping you might be able to shed a bit more light on the subject.

Klink nodded wearily. “This is an interrogation.”

Hogan’s laughter was so unexpected and so warm, Klink had to look up. While the laughter itself subsided quickly, the amused smile remained. “You’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t an interrogation: it’s a debriefing.”

Klink wasn’t sure he understood the distinction and said so.

“If this were an interrogation,” Hogan explained, still smiling, “I’d be trying to get you to admit something you’ve done. That’s not what I’m after. All I want is a report from you about what happened on Grafweg.”

While this still sounded very much like an interrogation to Klink, he didn’t question it further. As long as Hogan didn’t start using threats as Hochstetter would have, he thought he could do this. He frowned suddenly as he recalled his own questions about that night. “You told Newkirk that you didn’t know who _they_ were. I assume you meant the men who ambushed us. So, what happened to your plan?”

Klink took a measure of glee at the confusion on the American’s face. “Oh, yes, I woke up when you came by to chat.” He laced his fingers on the table top. “You took a very big risk to come check on Corporal Newkirk, so whatever went wrong, it must have been substantial.”

Hogan’s expression was a strange mixture of annoyance and something that might have been pride. “You’re right about that. Whoever ambushed you on Grafweg, they weren’t with us. As I’d told you, we’d planned on _kidnapping_ Adler, not killing him.” He steepled his fingers. “Kinch couldn’t get close enough to see what had happened beyond Adler being dead. For all we knew, they could have decided to execute you and Newkirk as well—just so they’d have no witnesses.” He offered Klink a smile. “The only way to find out what had happened to you two was to go and see for myself.”

Klink found himself returning the smile before he could remind himself not to feel any sort of satisfaction that Hogan had come to check on _him_ as well. Then he blinked, registering with dismayed surprise the latest bit of news the Senior POW had so blithely shared. “Sergeant Kinchloe was out of camp, too?”

“He was out of camp before you were,” Hogan confirmed. “He was my insurance to make sure nothing would go wrong.” He smiled ruefully. “That didn’t work out so well, as it turns out, but that wasn’t Kinch’s fault.” 

In the grand scheme of things, Klink supposed it didn’t matter when Kinchloe left camp or how he’d done it. No need belaboring the point that Klink was a complete, utter failure. “So what went wrong?”

A dark laugh. “What _didn’t_ go wrong would be the better question.” Then his expression became more serious. “We were beaten to the punch. Those men set up _their_ ambush before the men I was working with could even get in place. Somehow, they _knew_ when and where Adler would turn up.” He shook his head. “I’d love to know who they were and how they managed it.”

_But how did_ you _know where and when to be?_ Maybe from the bug, but Klink knew that Adler had never discussed anything specific with _him_. And there was something about the way Hogan had said this last that made Klink feel wary. Maybe it was the way he was still fishing for information without asking any questions. “Why does that matter? General Adler is,” he tripped on the word but rallied, “dead. What difference does it make who killed him?”

Hogan’s expression didn’t change. “It’d be nice to know if the men who executed Adler were a part of our network—if they are, they need to be brought back in line. It’s a waste of resources and effort that we can’t afford to have different groups working at cross purposes.” He inclined his head. “Besides, we’re not in the vigilante business, Klink. As much as Adler deserved to be put down, that wasn’t their call to make.”

Klink was fairly certain that Richter and the others were exactly what they’d appeared to be: members of the SS. The affiliation didn’t _preclude_ involvement in these ‘networks’ Hogan was referring to, but he found it unlikely. “And if they’re not your people? What happens then?”

Hogan blinked at him. “Nothing,” he said after a moment. “While London’s not especially pleased that Adler’s dead, going after whoever killed him at this point would just be spite. We don’t have the time or the resources to waste on that kind of pettiness.”

He sounded sincere, but Hogan was good at sounding sincere. “Can you promise me that nothing will happen to anyone I name?”

The American leaned back in his chair and regarded him as though he were an interesting specimen under a microscope. “You’re worried about reprisals.” It was a statement, not a question. At Klink’s nod, Hogan’s expression took on an exasperated air and, when he spoke, there was no mistaking the irritation in his voice. “Look, Klink, I told you: we’re not in the vigilante business, and we’re not going to waste resources to punish particular people for interfering with our plans after the fact. That’s _not_ how we operate.”

Klink’s mouth felt dry and he had stop himself from wrapping his arms around his middle. While his rational mind was telling him that Hogan had merely been annoyed about repeating himself, Klink had heard the promise of menace in the words as well. “I-I didn’t mean any offense,” he said, somewhat desperately. “I’m sorry.”

Hogan stared at him a moment longer before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said, still sounding annoyed. “I shouldn’t let myself get irritated over little things.” He smiled slightly. “You’ve got no reason to worry about reprisals. I can promise you _that_ much. Maybe London will want to try recruiting them but, as I said, we don’t have the time or resources to bother with petty revenge schemes.”

“All right,” Klink said finally. This assurance was probably the best he could expect. And, if anything did happen to Hirsch and Richter, more likely than not, Klink would never hear about it. He took a deep breath, preparing to share his story again. Granted, he’d be telling Hogan more than he’d told Hochstetter and Schmidt, but he didn’t think he’d have any problems just talking about the incident. “Where do you want me to start?”

A grin. “I do hate being cliché, but the beginning is probably a good place to start. When you left camp.”

Klink took another moment to collect his thoughts before he launched into his explanation. He decided not to tell Hogan about how his Corporal had been molested in the backseat—if Newkirk wanted his commander to know about it, he would tell him himself. So, instead, he went right to Adler giving him directions. He told Hogan how he’d almost lost hope that Hogan’s plan was going to happen when the car had been stopped by some members of the SS. How he’d been afraid something had gone seriously wrong when the SS Captain had mentioned looking for signs of underground activity. How everyone had been forced out of the car. How Adler had known the Captain’s name.

“Adler called him Lieutenant Richter,” Klink said, trying to quash the feeling of betrayal he felt for divulging the young man’s name.

“But you said he was a captain.”

Klink nodded. “He was, but I think, when Adler knew him, he wasn’t.” Hogan needed to know what Klink suspected—it was more likely than not Richter’s motive, after all—but he found himself hesitating to actually share his guess. He knew what it was like to know that people had ‘discussed’ what _he’d_ been through without his knowledge, without his consent. He did not like the fact that he was about to do the same thing to Richter. Of course, Richter would never find out that he’d been discussed, so Richter would be spared the humiliation Klink had felt.

He still had to swallow down hard before his throat was clear enough for him to speak. “From what Adler said to him, I … I believe Adler did to Richter something like what he, what he did to me.”

Hogan didn’t seem particularly surprised. “So, he was out for revenge,” he said thoughtfully. “I knew Adler couldn’t have been doing what he’d been doing for as long as he had without _someone_ deciding to off him.”

How did he know that? That Adler had done this before? Then Klink realized the answer to his question was currently residing in his desk drawer. “Adler named one of the other men, too, a corporal,” he continued quickly, his mind shying away from guessing what else the American might have overheard, “but it wasn’t like Richter. I mean, I don’t think Adler knew him well at all. He said he’d _thought_ he’d recognized him.”

“What was his name?”

“He called him Herr Hirsch.”

“Hirsch,” Hogan repeated, as though the name were the solution to a difficult puzzle. He put a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t even think to look more into who Jan Hirsch was.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet Hirsch isn’t even his real name. And I bet there’s no farmhouse at the end of that road either.”

Klink frowned. How could Hogan have known about the farmhouse? _Klink_ hadn't even known about the farmhouse until he'd been on his way there. For that matter, when had Hogan heard of Herr Hirsch—even so far as knowing a first name for him!—when the first time _Klink_ had heard the name he'd been on his way to that farmhouse that Hogan _also_ should know nothing about.

He had the feeling there was an obvious answer and that he would feel truly stupid once he learned what it was. At the moment, all he could do was shake his head and move on. He told Hogan how Adler had been shot, what Richter had told him to say to the authorities, and about how he and Corporal Newkirk had been handcuffed to the staff car.

The conversations he and the Englander had, he kept to himself. Partly because what they’d discussed wasn’t any of Hogan’s business, but mostly because he had no wish to repeat anything that had been said. Since the American already knew Klink had been awake when he’d come to check in on them, Klink told him how he’d woken up to Hochstetter knocking on the window and his subsequent trip to the Gestapo headquarters.

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. “What happened then?”

As Klink doubted Hogan was particularly interested in hearing about how he’d been offered medical attention and breakfast by Hochstetter then sat in an interrogation room in the basement for what had to have been several hours, he skipped right to the interrogation itself. “Colonel Schmidt asked all of the questions.”

“Colonel Schmidt?”

Right. “He’s a Colonel from Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. Since Adler was—since he was killed, Berlin sent Schmidt to be in charge of the investigation.” As he said the words, Klink realized he was going to have to say more than he’d originally planned to. And not just about Schmidt.

While he wished it wasn’t any of Hogan’s business who he’d discussed Adler with, Klink knew better. He understood how much of a liability he was to the American. How could he not when blackmail had gotten him _into_ this mess? Anyone who knew what Adler had forced him to do would have something substantial to hold over his head without the risk to themselves that Adler had had.

Not that Klink expected either Schmidt or Burkhalter to blackmail him. Of course, he hadn’t expected Adler to blackmail him either. 

“Schultz mentioned that Schmidt and Hochstetter didn’t get on,” Hogan prompted in a conversational tone. 

“Oh, ah,” Klink faltered, startled out of his thoughts, “no, they didn’t.” The longer he put the matter off, the more difficult it would be to force himself to discuss it at all. He couldn’t allow himself to get out of this. “I need to tell you something about Burkhalter and, and Schmidt.”

If Hogan was surprised by the abrupt change in subject, he showed no sign of it. “What about them?”

He had to tell Hogan the truth, naturally, but how much detail did he have to go into? What was the best way to explain why he’d taken Burkhalter and Schmidt into his confidence? When long, uncomfortable seconds stretched with no best way materializing, he settled for a way and hoped for the best. He looked down at his laced fingers, not wanting to see the Senior POW’s reaction to his words.“I had to tell them your back-up plan and … they both know what, what General Adler did to me.”

A long silence. “What happened?” Hogan asked at last, sounding more tired than anything.

“Burkhalter confronted me after the interrogation,” Klink explained, doing his best not to sound too defensive. He’d done the only thing he could think to do at the time. Maybe Hogan could have managed the situation better, but Hogan hadn’t been there! “He knew the reason I’d come up with for taking the prisoner out of camp for an interrogation wasn’t enough to explain my handing over control of a Luftwaffe prisoner to a member of the Gestapo.”

He glanced up at Hogan. The American was frowning, perhaps confused or perhaps disapproving. 

Well, if Hogan disapproved of how he’d handled things, perhaps _he_ should have come up with the reason. Klink returned Hogan’s frown. “You never gave me any rationale for taking Corporal Newkirk out of camp, so I had to come up with something myself.” _Which is why it wasn’t good enough._ He shook his head, pushing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time for self-loathing—it was time for assigning blame! “Even if your plan had worked perfectly, I still needed to have a reason to be out there in the first place.”

Hogan had the grace to look a bit chagrined. “Honestly, I’d thought Adler would be the one coming up with something. But you’re right: I should have remembered it would be your call, not his.” He folded his hands on the table top. “What _did_ you come up with, by the way?”

Klink explained how he’d enlisted Fraulein Hilda and Sergeant Schultz to change the details of Sergeant Carter’s ‘escape attempt’ to make it look like Corporal Newkirk had been the one to escape instead. That way, there had at least been _something_ the prisoner had been done to justify an interrogation. 

To his surprise, Hogan seemed impressed with his efforts. “That was some good thinking.” 

Hogan had given him praise before, of course, but Klink understood now that had been to merely stroke his ego so the prisoner could get whatever it was he’d wanted at the time. Was this a genuine compliment? Or just more of the same? Either way, he didn’t deserve praise. “Not good enough for General Burkhalter.” Before Hogan could offer a comment on this, he went on, “He wanted an explanation for why I did what I did.”

“And you told him the back-up plan.”

Again, Klink struggled not to feel defensive. “I didn’t know what else to do!” He felt fingernails digging into the backs of his hands and he forced his fingers to relax. “But that wasn’t enough for him either—he couldn’t understand why I would use a prisoner as bait rather than come to him for help. So, I had to tell him _why_ I couldn’t get his help.” He felt his face flush, recalling his solution to the problem. “I, I showed him the bruises.”

“That must have gotten a reaction,” Hogan commented with an almost inappropriately light tone.

That was an understatement. “It didn’t take him long to realize that Adler made them, but then he _still_ didn’t understand why I hadn’t reported being attacked.” He smiled bitterly, the bitterness he’d felt then returning to him. “After I told him it would have gotten me discharged, he understood. But then he kept wanting me to say what Adler had done to me—as though he _hadn’t_ known already!” 

Hogan was smiling wryly. “It’s harder to accept than you think. I know I had some trouble believing it at first, too.”

Something about this comment seemed strange, but Klink didn’t have time to decipher what it was just now. “Eventually, he agreed to let the whole thing be off the record, just so I’d say it.” His shoulders sagged a bit, remembering what he’d thought then. “Why everyone wants to hear me say it, I don’t understand.” That reminded him. “Burkhalter knows you know about it, too.”

Hogan’s expression definitely looked troubled now. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“Only that you’d figured it out somehow, and that we hadn’t been giving you enough credit.” Klink tried not to feel insulted by the insinuation that he was stupid enough to share something that would get Hogan into trouble and failed. “What did you _think_ I’d tell him?”

Evidently believing the question was rhetorical (or pretending that it had been), Hogan ignored it to ask one of his own. “Is he going to be a problem?”

A startled burst of laughter came out of Klink’s mouth before he could stifle it. “He asked me the same thing about _you_.” Shaking his head, he forced the levity away. This was serious. “He’s not discharging me or planning to transfer me, as far as I can tell, and he told me that everything I’d told him is off the record.”

“That’s good news,” Hogan said after a moment. “And Colonel Schmidt? What happened with him?”

This was the part he’d been dreading. The conversation with Burkhalter hadn’t been easy for him by any stretch of the imagination, but recalling it didn’t make him feel like he’d swallowed a rock. Still, this was arguably more important for Hogan to know. He had to make the attempt.

“Colonel Schmidt came some time after Burkhalter left. He locked the door,” Klink felt sick fear pooling in his stomach just from the memory, “and said he had a matter to discuss with me. That it wouldn’t take long.” He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself as he licked suddenly dry lips. “Schmidt saw the, the bruises on my face and neck and he, he…” 

Klink swallowed hard, tasting bile. He didn’t think he could do this, describe Schmidt’s demands and examination of him. Already, his breathing felt labored, being forced through his rapidly tightening throat. There was no need to focus on the small details, was there? No. No, he didn’t need to do that. Just focus on the important parts. “He... He guessed Adler had been responsible for my injuries.

“Wh-what he didn’t know was... He’d come in thinking I had either been working with Adler or, or ignorant of what his plans had been. But, after seeing my bruises... He-he already knew wh-what Adler had been doing in, in Berlin, so i-it didn’t take him very long to, to guess what Adler did to me.” A rush of remembered anger and terror flowed through him. “He said he’d-he’d look for himself if I wouldn’t admit that Adler sodomized me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather himself, get himself back under control. Then, he looked down again, unable to bear the Senior POW’s concerned gaze. He needed to get this over-with before he completely lost his composure! He said the next words in a rush, hoping to get get them out before his emotions overwhelmed him. “After I admitted that, Schmidt told me the investigation was over, and that I should contact General Burkhalter if anyone, if anyone comes asking questions.” 

“Do you think Schmidt will be a problem?” Hogan asked, his tone almost infuriatingly kind. 

At least the difficult part was over. Already, Klink could feel the tightness in his chest loosening. He took a deep breath and let it out experimentally. Much better. “I don’t believe so,” he said. “Schmidt told me that, as long as I kept what Adler did to me to myself, he’d be able to convince his superiors that I wasn’t worth the trouble of... dealing with.”

Hogan hmmed unhappily. “Better than the alternatives, I suppose. With any luck, he won’t change his mind.”

Klink wondered if he ought to share what Schmidt had told him about Berlin, about how Adler had gotten away with his crimes, before deciding that he wasn’t interested in losing his composure in front of Hogan. With the way his emotions had almost overtaken him just trying to describe Schmidt ordering him to take off his shirt, he didn’t feel up to discussing _that_ betrayal.

Then he remembered that, thanks to the bug in his office, Hogan probably knew all about it anyway. 

Instead, he skipped to being released from Gestapo custody, and Schultz driving them all back to Stalag 13. 

“I guess it’s no wonder you slept all day once you got back!” Both Hogan’s expression and tone seemed better suited to a more casual conversation than the one they were having. “And you were busy today, too. Hochstetter, that Gestapo General—who was he, by the way?”

Klink had to bite his lip to keep from busting out with something like ‘As though you don’t know!’ While this story would be shorter if he just told Hogan about the bug he’d found, Klink hadn’t decided how to bring that subject up just yet. “He … he was General Adler’s father.”

Hogan’s expression of shock was good and would have been convincing had Klink not been convinced that Hogan already knew. “He didn’t threaten you, did he?”

It was truly amazing how good of an actor this man was. Klink shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.” Unlike with what had happened on Grafweg and afterward, there was no need to go into much detail: if Hogan _hadn’t_ been listening the whole time Herr Adler had been in his office, he’d eat his monocle! Besides, there were parts of that conversation he didn’t want to even _think_ about ever again, let alone _repeat_. 

“He wanted to know what had happened to Adler when he was killed, and I told him.” He waved his hand and assumed an expression he hoped indicated that the rest of their conversation had been too dull to recount. “We talked a little more, and that was it.”

Clearly, Hogan had expected him to say more. “What did you talk about?”

Klink considered Hogan, considered reasons the man would want him to go into detail about things he already knew. He thought about his encounter with the elder Adler, trying to figure out which part of it Hogan was actually interested in. “Oh,” he said once he realized what it was. Although, now that he knew what Hogan wanted, there was the question of whether or not Klink wanted to give it to him.

Would that matchbook be a death sentence in Hogan’s hands, too?

“What is it?”

How to find out what he needed to know? Klink had never had much luck being clever, and the man in front of him was beyond Klink’s ability to fool. Not that there was a chance of fooling someone who already knew what it was one was trying to hide. So, blunt it was. “Tell me, Hogan,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone calm and reasonable, “if I were to give you a way of finding Herr Adler, what would happen to him?”

Hogan blinked. “You care about that?”

Klink was very nearly insulted. “ _He_ never did anything to me; I wouldn’t like the idea that I’m sending him to his death.”

For the briefest instant, Hogan looked incredulous. Then he leaned back in his chair and returned Klink’s stare. “If he’s lucky, the Allies will pick him up before the Gestapo does. He’ll be sent to London, questioned, and held until the end of the war.”

“In a POW camp?”

Hogan shook his head. “He’s a civilian—a special case. He’s not a spy or a traitor or a defector or even a scientist or engineer. But he can’t be allowed to be freed until after the war. In his position, he would have had contact with our spies: they’re in enough danger without him talking to the wrong people about them.”

Klink had to admit to being surprised.

Now it was the American’s turn to look insulted. He opened his mouth then closed it again, clearly thinking better of saying whatever he’d planned to. “Unless he refuses to be taken alive, he’ll survive the war, I promise you that.”

Even as Klink acknowledged Hogan’s words with a timid “I see”, he realized he had another reason to be surprised. _‘In his position, he would have had contact with our spies.’_ Was this an admission that Hogan had heard Herr Adler say these things himself? “How did you know Herr Adler was in contact with your spies?” he asked, hoping Hogan would spare him the need to begin the conversation about the bug in his office himself.

He was to be disappointed.

Hogan smiled. “It just so happens that I got a call from London this afternoon about Albert Adler. Seems he decided to leave Berlin with no forwarding address.” He held out a hand as though waiting for something to be placed in it. “So, was your question academic, or do you know where Herr Adler’s flying off to?”

_The man has an answer for everything!_ Klink thought despondently. He straightened his shoulders and stood, figuring he might as well just go and fetch the matchbook rather than waste time explaining it. “Wait here for a moment.”

Hogan nodded gamely. “Take your time—I’ve got nowhere to be until morning roll.”

“Hah,” Klink said flatly as he saw the problem with his plan. He had to walk by Hogan, and the kitchen was narrow enough that he’d be within easy reach the entire time. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was being foolish. Even if Hogan suddenly decided to become a pervert, surely he would wait until he’d gotten the information he’d wanted about Herr Adler!

_Perhaps_ , a dark voice whispered, _Hogan likes to put pleasure before business, too._

He hadn’t noticed his arms were wrapped around his middle until his hold on himself tightened. No. No. No. He was being foolish. Paranoid. He had nothing to worry about. Nothing. His heart, which was pounding furiously against his sternum, strenuously disagreed.

“Klink? What’s the matter?” Klink barely noticed that Hogan had, once again dropped his rank, because the fact that the American’s voice had come from somewhere closer than it should have disturbed him more.

He imagined he could feel the man reaching out for him—he imagined it because Klink couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and find out whether or not this was true. He backed up, hitting the counter. “D-don’t touch me!” he begged, the words coming out with enough force that he thought vomit might follow them. “Please.”

“What can I do?” Hogan’s voice, the concern—the helplessness in it—startled Klink enough to gain some control over his paranoia. However, getting control over his paranoia was not enough now. He wasn’t ready to deal with Hogan, with knowing that the prisoner was still standing so close to him.

“Klink?”

It was difficult getting enough control over his throat and lungs to coordinate the effort, but he was finally able to say, “Just-just sit down.”

Silence. Then he heard the chair scrape across the floor before creaking with the weight of someone sitting in it. “Okay. I’m sitting down,” Hogan assured him softly in a way that reminded Klink uncomfortably of a man faced with a hysterical woman.

At least Hogan hadn’t elected to hit him to calm him down. Which was such an odd idea now that he was thinking of it. The last thing someone who was in a panic needed was to be struck.

“What do you need me to do now?” Hogan asked, breaking into Klink’s thoughts, startling him again.

“Be quiet,” Klink said. It wasn’t a command but a plea.

For the second time this evening, Hogan did as he was told and fell silent.

_See? The secret for getting Hogan to listen to you is to completely lose your composure!_

Klink scowled at the inner voice but did have to concede that losing his composure did seem to be the way to get Hogan to listen to him. Not a way that Klink particularly liked, however. His mind had become a paranoid mess, but it didn’t take very long for him to regain some control over it. His body, on the other had, had to be slowly coaxed back into following his commands. 

It took time. He felt himself becoming calmer by degrees. He became aware that his jaw ached, that he’d been clenching his teeth. He loosened his jaw, then his hold on himself. When his heart had slowed and he felt as calm as he could expect to be considering the circumstances, he opened his eyes.

Hogan was staring up at him from where he sat at the table. His worried expression was immediately replaced by something pleasantly neutral. He smiled at him gently, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to be waiting for something.

It took Klink several long seconds for him to realize that Hogan was waiting for _him_ to speak first. Unfortunately, Klink had no idea what to say to the man. Did he pretend that what had just happened hadn’t? Was he brazen enough to pull that off? Did he attempt to explain what his problem had been? Did he want to have the same conversation he’d had with Schultz with Hogan, too?

“I...” Klink trailed off. While the silence had become too oppressive to him, he still hadn’t decided what to follow the ‘I’ up with.

Thankfully, Hogan took this as permission to speak. Unfortunately, he decided to open with a question Klink didn’t want to answer. “What was that all about?”

Klink shook his head. He was not going to do this now. “Look in the bottom drawer of my dresser. You’ll find a matchbook inside a sock. Herr Adler wrote an address there.” He sat back down at the table. “I’ll just... I’ll wait here.”

Hogan looked from Klink to the door and back again before giving Klink a slow nod. “All right, sir. I’ll be right back.”

To Klink relief, Hogan didn’t wait for a reply before heading off to complete his task. He regarded the empty room and decided, as nice as having a table between him and Hogan was, this room was too small with the way his paranoia seemed wont to go off. After another moment’s hesitation, he stood and made his way out of the kitchen. He ultimately decided to sit down on the couch: he didn’t want Hogan to have to go looking for him again.

When Hogan came out of Klink’s bedroom, slipping something small into his pocket, he was clearly surprised to see Klink somewhere other than where he’d left him. He recovered nearly instantly, patting his pocket. “Found it. This will be a big help. Thank you.”

Maybe this could be his chance to ingratiate himself to Hogan a bit, before telling the man he’d discovered that listening device, before he asked to be allowed to take a more active part in his treason. “Oh, you’re welcome to it,” Klink said brightly. “I’m happy to be able to help.”

Hogan tilted his head, then shrugged. “Well, thanks.” Before Klink could take the opportunity to reveal his discovery, the Senior POW pointed to the coffee table. “Mind if I take a seat?”

After Klink said he did not, rather than pull up a chair or join him on the couch, Hogan sat on the table itself on the end furthest away from Klink. He smiled at him. “I’ve been thinking of the promise you made me. I’m letting you out it it.”

Klink was certain he’d misunderstood. “You’re letting me out of...?” he trailed off to prompt Hogan to explain himself.

“Our deal,” Hogan finished easily. “Kinch told me it was a bad idea to force you to talk. I decided he was right.” His expression darkened a bit. “I’d like to limit what I’ve got in common with General Adler.”

Klink flinched. He couldn’t help but hear the accusation in the other man’s tone. “I’m sorry, Hogan.”

Hogan actually looked startled. “Sorry about what?”

At least Hogan hadn’t asked him to be precise. “I’m sorry for saying that you and General Adler were alike.”

A self-deprecating smile. “I haven’t given you much reason then to think otherwise.” The smile disappeared and something more serious took its place. “I wasn’t fishing for an apology, Klink. I just wanted to tell you why I’m letting you out of your promise.”

On one hand, Klink was elated that he didn’t have to tell the Senior POW anything—their relationship (such as it was) had always been based on lies. Maybe it was finally Klink’s turn to be the one keeping secrets. 

On the other hand, he knew that he couldn’t do it.

Hogan deserved to know at least this. After what the American had risked to show him what he’d shown him, Klink could not bring himself to be so dishonest in return. Hogan had the right to know what he was dealing with.

“I’d still like you to speak to me,” Hogan was saying, “but I want it to be on your terms.”

Klink liked the sound of that: having _something_ be ‘on his terms’. Of course, the offer would be moot once he told Hogan what he had to tell him. He doubted that the Senior POW would want to _see_ him again, let alone _listen_ to him ramble about Adler! “I appreciate that,” he said honestly, “but I need to tell you something now.” He hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While he’d known this was coming and had spent a lot of time worrying about Hogan’s reaction, he hadn’t spent much time preparing _himself_ for the moment. He had no idea how to even start.

“Is it about the thing you believe would make me regret helping you?”

His throat had gone too tight for him to easily speak, so Klink nodded.

Hogan’s expression had gone blank. Then he nodded to himself. “Just tell me one thing: is it a danger to me or my men?”

Klink shook his head. It was disturbing but not anything that would actually put Hogan or his men in any danger. With every bad thing Klink had discovered about himself, he knew he was no Josef Adler. Even if he’d any interest in being intimate again, he’d never want to be responsible for putting someone else through what _he’d_ been through.

“Then you don’t need to tell me right now,” Hogan said decisively. Then his smile became sharper, cunning. “You know what? I think I know what you need.”

Klink didn’t trust either the smile or the assertion. “Oh?” Although he’d tried not to, he knew he sounded nervous. “And what do you think I need?”

Hogan must have heard it, too, for his smile softened, and he no longer looked quite as predatory. “I think you need some time out of camp.” He looked Klink over and it was all Klink could do not to shy away from the gaze. “A few hours in town. Get a drink. Get some food that doesn’t have any sawdust in it.”

Although Klink was suspicious of the suggestion, he could see the merit of it. He was aware—too aware—that his camp had become a prison for him as well. But, to risk going into town? With the way he kept over-reacting? “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Are you familiar with the adage ‘You have to get back on the horse that threw you’?”

And now the American was babbling about horses. “No. I don’t think I’m familiar with that one,” Klink said, not bothering to hide his bewilderment at the non-sequitur.

“Well, sir,” Hogan explained patiently, “what I mean is, you’re never going to be able to do the things you used to do if you never make yourself try.” Not giving Klink a chance to form a response, he continued, “Maybe going to town will be too much, but getting out of here for a while could be the best thing for you.” He splayed his hands. “Just try it. You could always take Schultz along—as insurance.”

On a purely logical level, Klink understood what Hogan was getting at. When one breaks a limb, one must use it again as soon as one is able or risk losing function. If he kept hiding in his office and in his quarters, he’d soon reach the point where he wouldn’t be able to leave at all. He’d already seen some signs of this: his inability to bring himself to conduct roll calls.

On an emotional level, though, the idea was simply terrifying. Even if he asked Schultz to come along, he knew it wouldn’t help. If something did go wrong and he started over-reacting, he wouldn’t be able to see Schultz as a safety net—all he would be was another potential source of danger. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he said at last. 

“Take a chance, sir.” Hogan put his hands in his pockets and gave Klink a rakish grin, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “If it goes badly, you have my permission to tell me ‘I told you so’.”

“Very tempting,” Klink managed, praying that the sudden heat in his cheeks wasn’t visible to the other man. He did _not_ need to notice Hogan’s damn eyes! He rubbed his forehead, blocking the American from his view, as he hurriedly buried his embarrassment under a thick layer of irritation. It was easy enough to do; what reason did Hogan have to seem so _amused_ by the prospect of something going wrong? “I’m glad you’re able to find so much amusement from the idea I might lose control of myself in public.”

Silence. “I’m being too flippant.” It was a simple statement of fact. A sigh which sounded equal parts tired and annoyed. “All right, I don’t think it’d be _amusing_ if you lost control in public. I was just trying to put you at ease about it. So you didn’t feel like that outcome was the worst possible thing that could happen.”

Klink turned his head slowly and glared at Hogan. “I’m perfectly aware,” he said, feeling his anger rise with every clipped word, “that having an embarrassing episode in Hammelburg isn’t the worst possible thing that could happen.” Of course it wasn’t—not when Adler had raised that particular bar so high. It wouldn’t be good and it might be dangerous, but he was under no illusions. Not anymore.

Hogan met Klink’s glare with sad eyes. “Right. I’m sorry.” He took his hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m terrible at this,” he went on softly, as though admitting it to himself rather than to Klink. 

Klink was too stunned by the dejected tone Hogan had adopted to maintain his anger at the man’s thoughtlessness. It was so unlike the normally devil-may-care manner he usually had. For the first time in all of the time Klink had known him, he saw Hogan as a man who had completely lost sight of shore.

In a way, it was a comfort to see this normally self-assured man look as lost as he himself felt. How could Klink justify his self-loathing in this particular case when a man like Colonel Hogan was scrabbling for any semblance of normalcy, too? In that spirit, he reconsidered his suggestion. “Do you honestly think I should leave camp?”

Hogan clearly hadn’t expected the question, but he answered without hesitation. “Yes. Even if you just drive into town and then turn right around again, I think you need to go.”

“All right,” Klink said, surprising himself with the enthusiasm in his own voice. “I’ll go to Hammelburg.”

“Tomorrow?”

Klink nodded, a strange excitement building in his chest. “Yes. You’re right … if I don’t leave soon, I never will.”

A grin. “I’m glad to hear it.” Hogan stood. “Well, sir, it’s getting late, and I understand you’ve got a trip to make tomorrow.” He walked over to the stove, bent down for a moment to look inside the grate, then carefully swung the stove around to uncover the tunnel beneath. “Goodnight, Kommandant.”

“Goodnight.”

It wasn’t until after Hogan had disappeared into the tunnel and the stove had been put back into place (leaving only the faint hint of smoke in the air as the only proof Hogan had been in Klink’s quarters at all), that Klink realized he’d forgotten to tell Hogan he’d found the bug in his office.


	89. Some Reservations

Afternoon waned into evening, and, still, Colonel Hogan hadn’t come out of his office. While it was possible he was merely napping, well, this was turning out to be an uncharacteristically long-lived snooze! At this rate, the Colonel was going to miss dinner. 

Kinch wasn’t the only one who noticed, of course. Newkirk had been glancing in the direction of Hogan’s quarters every so often, and Carter was beginning to stare. LeBeau, while focused on what he was cooking, also spared time for words of concern. The others in the barracks, although not in the loop, knew them all well enough to sense that they were on edge. 

This had gone on long enough. 

Kinch knocked on the door to the Colonel’s office, prepared to enter if the knock received no answer. When he heard a faint “Come in” from within, he stepped inside and kicked the door closed behind him.

Hogan was at his desk, a game of solitaire spread out in front of him. He placed five down on a growing pile of spades before turning in his chair. A perfectly pleasant smile lit up his face. “Kinch. What brings _you_ by?”

Kinch puzzled over his commander and his oddly cheerful demeanor for a moment. “Just making sure you’re still with us, sir.” He let a hint of reproach enter his tone. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of you since lunch.”

Hogan blinked, then his smile became a little less perfect. “I suppose I _have_ been making myself scarce. I haven’t missed dinner yet, have I?”

“You say that as though Louis would let you,” Kinch teased. 

This earned a brief chuckle. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” Then, he turned in his chair long enough to switch on the coffee pot. Nothing. Either Klink wasn’t in his office, or he was being extremely quiet. “I tried to get in to see him earlier,” Hogan commented with the barest hint of frustration, “but he told Hilda to tell me to come by tomorrow.” His smile became something mischievous. “I was thinking of paying him a visit after lights out.” While not a question, the tone was expectant.

As for what sort of response he was expecting, Kinch couldn’t guess. Hogan had to know this was a terrible idea! With an effort, he asked a question that wasn’t some variation of ‘Why would you think _that’s_ a good idea?’ “Is there something that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t be going if there wasn’t,” Hogan rejoined smoothly, the idle thought having evidently already transitioned into a definite plan.

Was the Colonel being coy for kicks, or was he actually avoiding giving a straight answer? “What can’t wait, sir?” he asked, hoping a direct question would yield a direct answer. 

A careless shrug. “There’s whatever Mr. Adler gave Klink, for starters. The sooner I can pass that along to London, the sooner they can nab him.”

At first blush, the reasoning seemed sound enough. At second, however, the cracks in the logic began to show. “Mr. Adler wanted Klink to be able to find him, so he’s not likely to be on the move once he gets where he’s going.” He waited a moment for Hogan to offer a rebuttal. “Waiting until tomorrow isn’t going to make him more difficult for our agents to find.”

“I’d also like to debrief Klink about the Grafweg mission,” Hogan went on easily, as though Kinch’s objection—while interesting—was, ultimately, inconsequential. “I’ve waited too long to do _that_ as it is!”

While true you didn’t want to wait too long to debrief your agents (and how strange it was to consider _Klink_ an agent!), at almost two days out now, that narrow window of time had been closed for ages already. “A few hours more or less isn’t going to make a difference at this point.”

“That’s no reason to keep putting it off,” Hogan countered. 

Kinch spent several long, uncomfortable seconds waiting for the Colonel to add something more. When nothing more seemed forthcoming, he felt his brow furrow. The arguments were weak—Hogan was too smart not to realize that himself. What was he missing? “There’s no reason to be impatient, either,” he returned. “You could get in to see him right after morning Roll Call.”

Hogan was already shaking his head. “I’d have no guarantee that he’d actually agree to see me then, and it’d be pointless to use the tunnel entrance when he could easily call a guard to remove me.” His expression became crafty. “But, if I go after lights out, removing me won’t be an option.”

“That’s what makes this a bad idea,” Kinch said with deliberate coolness. His patience for this exchange was quickly running out, and he needed to remain collected. “Klink doesn’t like it when you invite yourself to his quarters in the middle of the _afternoon_ —he certainly isn’t going to appreciate it _after lights out_. Assuming he’s even awake by then.” Seeing the sudden surprise on Hogan’s face, Kinch felt his patience wane even further. Had this thought simply not occurred to the man? “Or do you plan on waking him up so you two can chat?”

“Of course not,” Hogan denied stiffly, his eyes narrowing. “If he’s asleep, I’ll leave.”

Which, if true, rendered every argument Hogan had just made invalid. Kinch had been about to make some truly caustic comments on this discrepancy when he realized what this was really about. He wanted to be annoyed that Hogan had chosen to hide his true motive for the planned after hours visit but knew it was his own fault the Colonel hadn’t felt he could confide it. 

Why the idea had disturbed him so much this morning, he still wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as though his _own_ interest in Klink’s situation hadn’t been personal for _him_ from the start. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been doing his damnedest to get Hogan to see the matter as he did. Perhaps it had just been the timing: he’d still been reeling at the confirmation of his suspicions. His suspicions that his commander had not only told the Commandant about the operation, but—worse!—, had also kept that knowledge from them. From him. 

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on that, of course. Now was the time for honesty in hopes that honesty would be returned. “I’m worried about him, too, sir.”

Hogan jerked slightly then shook his head—an admission rather than a denial. “I never could put one passed _you_ , Kinch.” He put his hands in his pockets, slouching a bit in his seat as his mouth flattened into a worried line. “Hilda and Schultz told me he’s doing better, but I don’t know what that even means after hearing him on the bug today.” The line twitched up into a faint smile. “And, you know me: I never like depending on second-hand intelligence when I can collect some of my own. I’d like to see for myself how he’s getting on.”

As much as Kinch could sympathize with Hogan’s concerns, as much as he shared them, this was _still_ a terrible idea. “I don’t think you should go,” he stated bluntly. What he was about to say would be a low blow, but it was clear that something drastic was needed. “You’ve told me yourself he acts like he’s afraid of you. What kind of reaction is he going to have if you show up unannounced in the middle of the night?”

From his expression, Hogan’s answer to the question wasn’t one he liked. “I won’t pretend that’s not a risk,” he said at last, “but I know to be more careful now.” Not waiting for a response, he added in an almost beseeching tone, “Trust me.”

While Kinch had noted this strange defensiveness before, he was taken aback to hear it being expressed so plainly. For whatever reason, the Colonel seemed to be taking his suggestions and advice concerning Klink as personal attacks. It was more than a little confusing and disheartening because Hogan didn’t _generally_ react this way to Kinch’s counsel. Why the man was being so sensitive about _this_ issue, Kinch had no guesses to hazard.

“I _do_ trust you, sir,” he insisted, dismayed that he had to. He trusted this man with his life—and more!—on a regular basis, and the idea that Hogan could believe otherwise was wrenching. “I trust you enough to tell you when I think you’re making a mistake. And I think this is a mistake.”

Hogan’s jaw was tight for a tense few seconds before his whole posture relaxed. “Even if I don’t always act like it, I do appreciate the honesty, Kinch, and you _do_ give very good advice.”

A ‘but’ was coming, and Kinch opted to cut to the chase. “But you’re not going to follow it.”

A fond smile. “I haven’t decided yet.” He stood and took a hand out of his pocket to clap Kinch on the shoulder. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, and I promise to keep your advice under advisement.” His smile widened as his hand fell away. “If I _do_ go and it turns out badly, I give you permission to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Tempting.” Kinch certainly _hoped_ Hogan would see reason before tonight, but time would have to tell on that score. Some mistakes had to be made, he supposed, and if the Colonel was determined to go, nothing would stop him. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that ‘I told you so’,” he mock warned.

Hogan chuckled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then he sat back down. “Just let me finish sorting these cards, and I’ll come make an appearance.”

Kinch nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, too, sir.” He turned and left the office, coming back out into the main barracks.

* * *

The mechanism for the bunk entrance to the tunnels was not particularly quiet, but most of the men in Barracks 2 were used to the noise and didn’t wake up for it anymore. Or, if they woke up, they went right back to sleep. 

Kinch almost went back to sleep himself before realizing what waking up to the mechanism meant. Either someone was breaking the rules for a clandestine trip to the tunnels or the Colonel had decided to ignore his advice after all. He sighed and pushed himself out of the bunk. Either way, he’d have to go investigate: it was too dangerous to have personnel unaccounted for after lights out without letting someone know so they could be covered for.

Granted, with Schultz in charge of Roll Call now, he wasn’t likely to do any late night roll calls, but someone else could show up and make demands. At the very least, Hogan should have let him know for safety’s sake! Just like he was going to have to let someone know what _he_ was doing before he left.

He quickly nudged Carter awake.

“Hmm-wuh?”

“Carter, the Colonel’s down in the tunnel, and I’m going to check on him.”

“Got it.” A yawn. “You want me to come along?”

Kinch shook his head before remembering Carter wouldn’t be able to see it. “Someone’s got to stay topside, and I don’t want to wake up the whole barracks.”

“Too late for that,” came a mumbled retort from Newkirk.

“Okay, Kinch,” Carter said, sounding oddly determined. “You can count on me.”

“Thanks.” Not wanting to lose any more time, he hurried down into the tunnels. Hogan was nowhere to be seen of course, but Kinch was certain he knew where he’d gone. Even running full pelt, he only made it in time to see Hogan disappear up the ladder.

He considered following after him before deciding not to: Klink didn’t need two late night visitors. With any luck, Klink was sleeping and Hogan hadn’t been lying about letting him sleep. As the minutes dragged on, that seemed not to be the case. With a sigh, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, prepared to wait for as long as it took for the Colonel to reappear. 

As annoyed as he was, he had to smile. Everyone liked to tease _him_ for being a mother hen, but Hogan could be just as bad. Worse sometimes. And, evidently, this was one of those times. Seeing that concern now stretching to encompass the Commandant was strange still, but heartening as well. Klink would need as much support as he could get in the days and weeks to come, and support seemed to be a commodity that Hogan was willing to supply. 

Which was to the good, but, even before Kinch had understood that the Colonel’s interest in Klink’s welfare was, ultimately, personal, he’d worried that Hogan would get too focused on Klink and on getting Klink back to something resembling his old self. Such a thing—if it was possible at all—would take time, and, though his commander was not _impatient_ , his patience had limits.

Klink was, for lack of a better word, stable for now, even if his situation was hardly resolved. Stable enough that Hogan didn’t have to dedicate himself _fully_ to him. After all, the last thing Klink needed was to be smothered. Unless missions started picking up again soon, the Colonel would have nothing to divert his attention away from Klink’s situation. As for what would happen once Hogan ran out of patience, Kinch couldn’t imagine that the outcome would be good for either of them. 

What the Colonel needed was something else to keep him occupied, and Kinch thought he had just the thing: Sergeant Wilson and the (possible) homosexuals at Stalag 13. He didn’t expect Hogan to hand out discharges—as Hogan had said, it wasn’t as though the Krauts would send them home. Kinch didn’t even think that the homosexuals ought to be segregated from the rest of the prison population: as uncomfortable as the thought of possibly sharing a shower with a homosexual was, Kinch couldn’t justify drawing a target on those men on the basis of his personal discomfort. He knew what could happen to them, and he had no wish to be responsible for that.

However, there _were_ reasons why homosexuals weren’t supposed to be in the military, and at least some of those issues could be minimized without confrontations or reprisals. But, the only way to lessen the risks they caused was if Hogan, at the very least, knew who the homosexuals were. If Wilson was still in business (and, unless there _were_ no homosexuals at Stalag 13, Kinch couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t be), the Colonel needed to know who he was treating.

Security _had_ to be more important than doctor/patient confidentiality!

In any event, that topic could wait until tomorrow. It was late and, if Klink was indeed awake and Hogan’s visit with him went as badly as Kinch feared it would, there would already be plenty to discuss when the Colonel returned down the ladder. 

* * *

The trip hadn’t taken long. “General Vogel’s” papers had passed muster at the various checkpoints, and, since Albert had had no appetite since learning of his son’s death, he hadn’t had to stop for anything but petrol. Now, pulling his car into the drive of the small lodge, he was as safe as any man could be during times such as these.

It had been nearly a decade since he’d been here. So much had changed in the outside world that he was surprised by how little had changed inside. Dust, yes. The floral-patterned curtains his late wife had favored bleached by the sun into mere ghosts of their former cheer, true. But everything had stayed right where he’d left it. The electricity was working—those arrangements had been made weeks ago—and the water from the faucet came out clear but cold. The boiler would have to be attended to if he wanted a bath without the risk of hypothermia. 

But not tonight.

The wood stacked by the fireplace was the same wood he and his son had chopped all those years ago. Thanks to its age, it was completely desiccated and caught easily. He pulled a chair up to the fireplace and, once he had consigned enough wood to the flames to keep the fire going, he sat down. His gaze was drawn to the dancing, flickering shadows on the edges of the fire’s light. The silence that weighed on his thoughts was held back only by the crackling and popping of the wood, and he knew he would have to face it sooner or later.

Later, he found a dusty bottle of Scotch under the sideboard to keep him company, to drown the silence. Later, he brought out his Luger and set it on the unsteady surface of his thigh. Later, he closed his eyes and welcomed oblivion. 


	90. On The Road Again

Despite his intention to follow through on the declaration he’d made the night before, the sober light of day had reminded Klink that it was a terrible, terrible idea. It was all well and good for Hogan to tell him he needed to leave camp for a while—and he might even be right—, but that didn’t make the prospect of leaving the people he, at least intellectually, knew wouldn’t hurt him to surround himself with strangers for whom he had no such assurance any more appealing to him.

Klink already knew what Hogan would say to that because he’d already said it: “You could always take Schultz along—as insurance.” Unfortunately, the answer to _that_ suggestion also hadn’t changed: if something went wrong, Schultz would just be another threat. The same was true of anyone he could think to take with him except for maybe Fraulein Hilda.

He’d actually considered asking Hilda to come to Hammelburg with him but hadn’t been able to think of a way of doing so that wouldn’t sound like he was attempting to proposition her. Perhaps if he weren’t such a coward, he could have told her the truth, but he hadn’t been able to come up with a way of doing _that_ either.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that Klink finally found a workable solution. Although the temptation to wait until tomorrow to enact his plan had been difficult to resist, he’d known he’d find an excuse not to go out tomorrow either if he let himself. No, he was going to leave camp today, and nothing was going to stop him.

Not even a hovering Sergeant Schultz. The man in question was following him to the motor pool, his silence emanating worry. He hadn’t said anything since his first offer to drive him into town had been rebuffed, but Klink knew the guard was merely biding his time. No doubt further offers would be on the way.

If Klink hadn’t known better, he might have thought that _Schultz_ was more anxious about this excursion than he’d been! Unfortunately, Klink _did_ know better, which made Schultz’s hovering and sidelong concerned glances all the more frustrating. Even with the solution he’d come up with, the Sergeant’s attitude certainly wasn’t making this any easier for him.

“Oh! Kommandant!”

Klink whirled around, surprised to find himself being hailed by Sergeant Carter. The younger man was jogging towards him, waving his arms frantically to get his attention. For a moment, Klink felt apprehensive, but then he noticed Sergeant Kinchloe walking behind him at a far more leisurely pace. As Kinchloe seemed calm and unconcerned, Klink doubted that Carter’s waving indicated any actual danger.

He waited for the pair to catch up to him and Schultz, wondering whether the answer he’d receive to his question would be worth the wait.

Carter arrived first, naturally, stopping before Klink had a chance to worry about being run into. He bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Not too long afterwards, Sergeant Kinchloe arrived.

Now that both of them were close enough to talk to without shouting, Klink asked what this was all about.

Kinchloe smiled down at the still recovering Carter with tolerant amusement before turning his attention to Klink. “Excuse the interruption, sir,” he said lightly, “but Sergeant Carter wanted to show you a magic trick—if you can spare a moment.”

What a strange request! It was very seldom that individual prisoners sought him out as requests were _supposed_ to go through the Senior POW, but to be sought out for _this_ reason? Klink was just bewildered and curious enough not to remind the two prisoners of the proper protocol. He was also glad to have an excuse to send his fretful shadow away for a few minutes. “I can. Go get the car ready, Sergeant.”

“Oh!” Carter stood up, suddenly recovering from his jog. “I’ll need Schultz, too.” He hastily pulled a worn deck of cards out of his pocket, then shuffled them clumsily with gloved fingers as he spoke. “Newkirk’s been helping me with my routine.”

“Routine?” Klink repeated, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. “What are you talking about?”

“For the next talent show,” Kinchloe explained. “We were hoping to put on another one. With your permission, of course.”

“Of course,” Klink repeated, glancing at Sergeant Schultz. He was relieved to see that the Sergeant looked about as confused as he felt. This entire situation was edging out of strange and into surreal. Even without considering protocol, it was surreal. Here he was, out in the middle of the compound, about to watch one of his prisoners perform a magic trick while the other one talked about talent shows (of all things).

Although, considering what these two knew about him and his circumstances, it was nice to be having a conversation that had nothing to do with either General Adler or Grafweg. His lips quirked up slightly. “I’ll consider it.”

“Great! Because I’ve been working on my act.” Carter smiled lopsidedly at him. “Pick a card,” he directed as he fanned them out in front of Klink’s face. “Any card.”

While the prisoner was a bit too close for his liking, Klink’s hand didn’t tremble as he plucked a card from the deck. A queen of diamonds.

“Show it to Schultz, but don’t let me see it.” As though to aid this end, Carter covered his eyes with his free hand. “After you do that, put it back in the deck.”

Still feeling a bit off-kilter, he turned the card so the guard could see it. Then he slid the card back into the deck. “It’s done.”

Carter uncovered his eyes and reshuffled the cards. He held them out in his opened palm. With his other hand, he tapped the deck three times, counting each time aloud. Finally, he turned over the first card to reveal the Ace of clubs. “Is this your card?”

Klink shook his head, unsure why he was so disappointed by a failed magic trick.

Carter frowned, puzzled. “Are you sure?” At Klink’s next nod, the young man sighed deeply, looking utterly crestfallen. “I guess I’ll need Newkirk to give me a few more pointers.”

Kinchloe clapped Carter on the back and gave him a wide smile. “You’ll get it next time.” Then he turned the smile on Klink. “Thank you for your time, Kommandant.” Without waiting to be dismissed—fitting as they hadn’t exactly been admitted—they turned back the way they’d come.

Schultz was shaking his head. “Jolly jokers,” he muttered under his breath.

Klink was inclined to agree. Of course, his prisoners always seemed to be up to this or that silly scheme. Talent shows, volleyball tournaments, play acting, arts and crafts projects—sometimes, they acted so much like children! He found himself wondering, as he and Schultz continued on to the motor pool, how much of that was a show to cover for Hogan’s own schemes and how much of it was in earnest.

Thinking on it a bit more, he decided that most of the silly schemes were probably just what they appeared to be: frivolities to break up the tedium. Even with all the craziness that happened around this area, which Hogan was doubtlessly responsible for, such incidents weren’t _constant_. Now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since something inexplicable had happened—maybe wanting another talent show wasn’t nearly as strange as he’d thought.

He’d certainly rather deal with a talent show than with something that would end with him and his camp under investigation. Again. He didn’t know if he were prepared to be the subject of official scrutiny quite so soon. After the way he’d handled Hochstetter, Klink didn’t think he wanted that man to have a reason to hang around.

Although, he reconsidered as he and Schultz arrived at the motor pool, the look on his face when Schultz had dragged him out of his office _had_ been something to behold.

“I could drive you to town, Kommandant,” Schultz offered abruptly, evidently deciding that now was the time to start making offers again. When this offer was also rebuffed, the guard seemed to take it as an invitation to try again. And again. Even after Klink had gotten into the driver’s seat, Schultz gave it one more try. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to drive you into town?”

Klink suppressed a sigh as well as a surge of irritation. This was the third time Schultz had asked if he was ‘sure’ and the fifth time in total that the Sergeant had offered to drive. While the guard could be dim at times, Klink had _thought_ he’d made his answers fairly unambiguous! “Yes, Sergeant, I’m sure. I won’t be gone for more than a couple hours.” He closed the car door and did his best to ignore the hurt and unease on Schultz’s face as he drove the car out of the motor pool.

Once the gates of Stalag 13 were far behind him, Klink relaxed. He was moving! He was more or less safe at the moment and, unlike the last time he’d taken the wheel, he wasn’t heading towards uncertainty and danger. He also wasn’t heading towards Hammelburg. Well, he’d be going in the same general direction for a while, but town was not his ultimate destination.

His ultimate destination was not somewhere he exactly _wanted_ to go, but a place he felt he _had_ to go. And after what felt like all too soon, he’d arrived.

Klink parked in the same spot he’d parked the other staff car. Through the windshield, he could see the ruddy slush that had concealed Adler’s corpse. Almost without realizing he was doing it, he stepped out of the car and made his approach. He noticed, in a detached sort of way, that none of the snow had been left undisturbed: crushed flat by boots or overturned in a thorough search.

He stopped in front of the car to stare down at the mess by his feet. Although the snow here had also been disturbed and crushed, it wasn’t difficult to tell where Adler’s head had been: a large patch of blood, bright and red against white snow around the edges, darkening moving inward, almost black near the center. It still looked fresh, and he thought he could smell the coppery tang of it in the air, but that was only his imagination. Or perhaps it wasn’t; there was so much blood. It was difficult to believe it had all come out of one man.

And there wasn’t only blood. He squinted down, noticing something else. Tiny flecks of what could only be—

Gorge rose in his throat as the sight of the gore finally got to him. He closed his eyes, doing his best to force the queasy feeling away.

 _What am I doing here?_ Klink wasn’t sure now why he’d thought he had to come back. Yes, Grafweg had been featuring prominently in his nightmares of late, but what had he expected to find in this place? There was nothing here to soothe his nightmares: blood under the light of day brought no comfort. What was he accomplishing besides making himself ill and cold? There was nothing further to be gained by standing out here. It was time to leave.

A bit earlier than he’d planned, but perhaps he could spend some time driving around before his trip—

A faint metallic scraping sound coming from the car made Klink turn so quickly he nearly lost his footing. At first, there was no immediately apparent cause for the noise. Then he heard a muffled curse as the sound happened again. Already knowing what he was going to see, he slowly made his way around the car towards the trunk. He turned the corner just in time to see the trunk click shut.

Disbelief and a sense of exasperation overcame him, and he rapped smartly on the trunk before thinking better of it. “Get out of there this instant.”

Silence.

Klink knew he hadn’t just been imagining things! He rapped again. “I know someone is in there.” When this statement failed to garner a response, he resorted to reason. “I have the key to this trunk,” he explained loudly, annoyed now, “and there’s nowhere you can run off to while I get it. So, why not save us some time and just come out of there.”

This time, he heard mumbling. A mumbled argument.

Klink’s annoyance immediately turned to fear. There were _two_ people inside his trunk? What did he intend to do once they came out? He was unarmed and alone! For that matter, what had he planned on doing _before_ , when he’d thought there’d only been one person in his trunk?

He hadn’t planned on anything because he hadn’t been thinking!

And he _still_ wasn’t thinking—he absolutely did not have time to stand here and panic! He had to do something. But there was nowhere to run to. Just as he’d realized that the smart thing to do would be to jump back in the car and drive it back to Stalag 13 as quickly as possible, the trunk popped open.

An old, rather unattractive (but strangely familiar) woman and a small man in a suit who Klink immediately recognized as Corporal LeBeau sat up. As the Frenchman smiled and waved at him, Klink suddenly figured out why the woman looked so familiar: she was Corporal Newkirk dressed as a little old lady.

Before he could think of stopping himself, Klink started laughing. Laughing so hard, he thought he might faint. The fact that the two prisoners were giving each other disbelieving looks only made the bizarre tableau all the more amusing. Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, Klink was able to get a hold of himself. “Do I... Do I want to know why you’re in my trunk?” he asked, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

The two corporals exchanged looks and LeBeau shrugged. Newkirk glared at him before turning his attention to Klink. “No, sir.”

Klink opened his mouth to ask them if they could perhaps manage to _not_ be in his trunk by the time he turned around and drove back to Stalag 13 but stopped himself as a sudden realization washed over him. It was all he could do not to curse as he slid a hand down his face. Of _course_ Hogan had had an ulterior motive—he _always_ had an ulterior motive!

Apparently, Hogan had found a way to keep using him after all. A part of him was tempted to start shouting threats at the corporals, but he was just able to restrain himself. They weren’t the ones he wanted to shout at, for one thing. For another, he’d been given another opportunity to cement his commitment to the decision he’d made.

If he was going to commit treason in any case, he’d prefer to commit it knowingly.

Unfortunately, that meant finding a way of dealing with the fact that he’d caught two of his prisoners in his trunk which would allow him to drive them to Hammelburg without giving away that he knew more than he ought to about them and Colonel Hogan.

“Eh, Kommandant?”

He wasn’t sure if he were clever enough to come up with something like that. The important thing would be to act like himself, or like how the prisoners would _expect_ him to act. He had to be in character or else they’d suspect something.

What would he have done if he’d caught the Englander and the Frenchman in his trunk before General Adler. What _would_ have been in character for him? Klink realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he didn’t know. It felt like such a long time ago, and he was having difficulty even recalling how he used to think back then. A sound that was too bitter to be laughter escaped him at a thought too sad to be a joke: he’d changed so much, he didn’t even know himself anymore. Not that he’d ever _really_ known himself—

“Kommandant!”

Shaking his head, Klink returned his attention to the present and to the two prisoners in his trunk. They were staring at him: wariness, puzzlement, and something like concern mixing together in differing amounts in their expressions. All right. All right. If he couldn’t act _in_ character, maybe he should try acting out of it. Maybe if he kept them off-balance, they wouldn’t question why he hadn’t brought them straight back to camp to throw them in the cooler.

A truly wicked idea struck him, and he saw no reason not to give it a try. He knew from unfortunate experience how fear made one less willing to question one’s luck.

“I’m not changing my plans to accommodate you,” he stated, his attempt to sound imperious coming out more petulant than anything. Swallowing back his nerves, he continued, committed to the act now, “As far as I’m concerned, you can just _stay_ in that trunk.” He twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Perhaps you’ll have learned your lesson after I drive around town a few dozen times!” He put his hands on the trunk lid quickly to hide that they were shaking. “Well? You better duck your heads in, or this is going to hurt.”

Klink waited for them to flatten themselves down, almost surprised that they actually were doing so. It was taking all of his control to keep the expression of sadistic glee on his face now that he realized just _whom_ he’d ended up sounding like, and the sooner he could let it drop, the better he’d feel. Once the Corporals had resettled themselves, he gently closed the trunk and felt himself sag. He’d tried not to notice the worried glances they’d thrown each other as they did as they’d been bid, but of course he had.

He pushed the nascent guilt away. It wasn’t as though he actually planned on going through with his threat—a fact they would realize in less than an hour.

Klink got into the driver’s seat, now considering the other problem he had to face. The truth was that he’d never planned on _going_ to Hammelburg at all. He wasn’t ready to go into town, and he knew it. His solution to the problem had been a compromise: leave camp, but not go to Hammelburg. Instead, he’d planned to come here—foolishly hoping something about this place would ease his nightmares—before heading straight back to Stalag 13.

It was tempting to do just that anyway. Of course, then it’d be obvious then that he’d never made it to town, and he wasn’t interested in having a conversation about why he hadn’t done what he’d ostensibly set out to do. Also, he planned on asking Hogan to allow him to help with his schemes—he’d hardly be off to a good start if he frustrated the American’s plans.

Even if the way Hogan had decided to include him in them more than frustrated _him_.

So, he’d go to Hammelburg. The only question now was _where_ in Hammelburg he was going to go. Klink considered the question as he drove, leaving the bloody slush behind him. He wasn’t hungry; he had nothing he needed to buy; and the weather was not nearly balmy enough for a stroll down the street.

However, staying in the car seemed like a poor idea, too. Someone was bound to wonder why he was just sitting in his car, and he didn’t want to actually see the two corporals exit his trunk. Even if he decided he didn’t care about _that_ , he’d still need to find some place _to_ park.

 _Still_ , he thought as he finally exited the woods and turned onto the road to town, _there’s no need to go_ that _far into Hammelburg or to stay very long_. Hogan had told him when he’d made the suggestion that, even if Klink only drove into town and turned right around again, it’d be enough. Apparently, whatever plans Hogan had for the corporals in his trunk, they likely didn’t include a round trip. All he had to do was park the car somewhere for five or ten minutes, and then he could be back on his way to Stalag 13.

And he thought he knew just where to go.

* * *

Klink had picked the hotel bar for two reasons: 1) it was on the outskirts of town, meaning he’d be able to get his part of Hogan’s plan over-with as soon as possible, and 2) while he’d known the place existed, he’d never actually been there. If he’d gone to a place where he was a regular, any strange behavior on his part would have been noticed. Here, no one knew how he was _supposed_ to act and so couldn’t get suspicious if he didn’t act that way.

What he hadn’t anticipated was what unfamiliar surroundings might do to him. Unfamiliar eyes bore into him as he walked the short distance between the door and bar, making Klink wish he’d thought to wear some civilian clothes for his little outing. Not that he’d actually planned on going somewhere where his uniform would be so conspicuous, but here he was.

And, God forbid, should something happen, well, how many Luftwaffe Colonels were there in this area! At least he’d thought to wear his flight scarf. Mindful of how easily it had come loose yesterday, he’d made sure to cinch it up tightly before he’d come in. Not that he anticipated anyone _here_ getting quite that close to him.

Klink sat down at the bar, grateful that his injuries had healed enough for him to sit on the stool with only mild discomfort, and wondered whether it would be best to stay sitting at the bar, or if he should go to one of the booths and sit there. Either way, he needed to buy something first. Otherwise, he’d be even more conspicuous than he was already.

The bartender finished wiping the bar before nodding to Klink. “Colonel,” he greeted, setting the rag down, “what can I get for you?”

Somehow, when he’d decided to come here to waste enough time for the two corporals to get out of his trunk, he’d forgotten that what was generally offered at bars was alcohol. Which was the last thing he wanted. Why had he come to a bar when he didn’t trust himself to drink?

But to leave now would seem far too strange. “Ah... Water?” Klink asked, not having much hope that this would be available.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. Then he shrugged. Within moments, he’d set a glass of water down on the bar in front of Klink.

Klink reached into his coat to get some money, but the bartender waved him off.

“It’s on the house,” he said, smiling slightly. “I only charge for the water when folks come in to buy my liquor.” He chuckled a bit at his own joke. Then he gave Klink a searching look that Klink had to struggle not to shy away from. “It will be a long time before the flowers bloom again.”

What an odd thing to say! “I suppose that’s true,” Klink said after a moment, uncertain as to the point of the non-sequitur. Another joke, perhaps? A complaint about the weather? Or just an observation? He summoned up a smile. “Well, winter can’t last forever!”

The bartender shook his head, picking up the rag again. “No, it can’t.” He glanced over Klink’s shoulder and stiffened ever so slightly. “Fraulein Erna!”

“Yes, Max?” a female voice asked, coming from close behind Klink, making him start.

“I’ve got some business to attend to,” Max said apologetically, though it was hard to tell if he were talking to Klink or to the woman. He nodded towards Klink, then walked away.

A hand on his back made Klink start again.

“Hello, handsome,” Fraulein Erna said, leaning against his right side.

Klink turned his head to look at her. She was perhaps ten years older than Fraulein Hilda—either that or life had been unkind to her. She was still pretty and young and a week ago, he would have welcomed having her practically hanging on him. “Hello,” he said, somewhat stupidly, as he tried to think of a way to tell her to get off of him that wouldn’t seem both rude and suspicious.

“You seem tense,” she remarked, her hand tracing somewhat painful circles on his back. “What are you in the mood for today?” Not waiting for an answer, she took his glass of water from the bar and took a small sip. A confused frown curved her mouth. “Just water?”

Klink blinked, having to marvel at her audacity. Who was she? Did she work here? Did she put her hands on all of the customers and steal their drinks? Glancing around, he noticed now that, despite his sense of being the focus of many prying eyes, the place was practically deserted. Of course, if this was the sort of service one could expect to receive here, he could understand why!

He turned his head towards the door, to see if he could find the missing bartender, but a hand on his cheek stopped him cold. Although the hand was smaller and smoother than Adler’s, he felt himself start to tremble. He didn’t resist as the hand gently forced him to look back at Fraulein Erna.

Her hand slid off his face even as her lascivious smile turned into a concerned frown. “What’s the matter? You don’t look at all well.”

Klink was sure he didn’t look well. He didn’t feel well. This had been a mistake. Oh, why had he ever thought this would be a good idea! Oh, that was right, he _hadn’t_ thought it was a good idea. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in his panic before he did something that would draw even more attention to himself. He knew he was nearing his breaking point, and the warmth of another body pressed up against him was not helping in the slightest.

A weight settled on the side of his neck. Hands on his throat . And he couldn’t breathe.

With a cry, he turned and pushed his hands out blindly, hitting something soft. He tried to stand but tripped on the stool and fell. His head hit the edge of something hard, and he heard the crack of the contact more than he’d felt it. His vision went white. When the world finally swam back into focus, Klink found himself looking up at a trio of concerned, unfamiliar faces.

“Colonel?” one of them, a gray-haired man, asked. “Can you hear me?”

Klink nodded, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

Another face joined the ring. A young woman. “I’ve brought the ice,” she said, holding out a wrapped bundle to the gray-haired man.

 _Max_. Klink frowned to himself. _His name is Max_. He squinted up at the faces and realized he recognized the woman, too. _Fraulein Erna_. That left the old woman and the old man... They actually looked familiar, more familiar than Max and Erna, but he couldn’t quite place who they were.

Max handed the bundle to Klink. “For your head,” he explained. “Will you need a ride to the hospital?”

“No,” Klink said quickly. He remembered why that would be a bad idea. “No. I’m fine.” He put the cold bundle up to his aching temple. “What happened?”

Erna looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to, but I must have startled you. You, uh, jumped and fell. You hit your head on the bar.”

As she relayed the story, Klink remembered. He also remembered something else. His face flushed with shame. “I’m... I’m sorry I hit you. Are you all right, Fraulein?”

“Never better,” she insisted, seemingly surprised he’d even ask. “You gave me a start, but I’m better off than _you_ are.”

Klink didn’t doubt it. He’d been about to say so, when he saw Max reaching down for him. “Don’t!” he exclaimed, cringing away from the outstretched hand. Then he realized how strange his action must have looked. He tried to smile up at the startled man. “Just—just give me some room. I-I’ll be all right.”

Max and Erna exchanged looks while the older couple moved out of Klink’s line of sight. “All right,” Max conceded at last. “Do you want me to call someone to get you?”

“No.” This was humiliating enough without dragging his staff into it. Besides, while his temple still hurt, the world wasn’t spinning anymore. The nausea was unpleasant, but he was sure it would pass. He’d be all right. He hoped. “Let me just sit here for a bit. I’ll be able to drive myself.”

“You want to stay on the floor?” Max asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

Max shrugged. “As you like, Colonel. If you need anything, just shout.” Then he left, leaving only Fraulein Erna standing over him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s fine,” Klink returned, dismissing the apology. He wasn’t interested in apologies just now. And anyway, it was his own fault for coming here when he’d known he wasn’t ready to do any of this. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. From his new vantage point, he could see Max standing near the door with the elderly couple. He frowned. Something about the pair rung little alarm bells in his mind.

Then Erna came to kneel in front of him, effectively blocking his view. She held out a glass. “Here’s your water.”

Klink took it from her but didn’t drink. He still felt nauseous, and he doubted the water would improve his condition. Maybe he should have followed Hogan’s advice: maybe he _should_ have brought Schultz along—at least then he wouldn’t be here all alone . . .

His mouth fell open, and he moved over quickly so he could see past the Fraulein.

As if to frustrate this effort, she moved too, but not before he’d caught another glimpse of the couple. That glimpse had been enough to convince him that the leap he’d made was on target. It was either that or a random elderly couple just happened to be wearing the same exact clothes Newkirk and LeBeau had been wearing.

Only his shock kept him silent. What were they _doing_ here? Were they insane? Weren’t they worried about being caught?

Seeing as they were currently deep in discussion with Max the bartender, the answer to that question seemed obvious. What was less obvious to him was _why_ they were having a discussion with Max the bartender in the first place.

“I really _am_ sorry.”

Klink shook his head, relieved to find the action no longer brought on vertigo. “I’ll be all right,” he reassured her quietly. He pulled his lips back into something he hoped was a comforting smile. “No harm done.”

She held out her hand, and he saw something shiny resting in her palm. “I picked this up,” she said, slowly moving the hand closer to him. “I think it’s yours.”

He set the glass down so he could take the monocle from her hand. He honestly hadn’t realized he hadn’t been wearing it until this moment. Despite the fall, the monocle had survived unscathed, and he put it in. His world became that much clearer. “Thank you.”

Erna waved his thanks away. “It’s the least I could do.” She frowned at him thoughtfully, as though seeing him for the first time. “You’re from that prison camp up the road, aren’t you? Colonel... Colonel Klink, right?”

“How did you know that?” As soon as he asked the question, he felt foolish. Hadn’t he just been thinking when he’d come in here that there weren’t exactly many Luftwaffe Colonels in the area?

She smiled. “My nephew works there, in the kitchens. He’s mentioned you before. I didn’t put it together until just now.”

“Oh.” Klink tried to think of who was currently assigned to the mess and found the task beyond him at the moment. “Well, our mess is second to none.”

Erna laughed behind her hand. “Not according to him. Is it true you put sawdust in the bread?

Despite all the complaints and jokes about the bread, there actually wasn’t _any_ sawdust in it as far as he was aware. Just cheap and, occasionally, weevil infested flour—sawdust could only be an improvement. Klink attempted a weak grin as something Hogan had said came back to him. “It gives the prisoners something to burn when it gets cold.”

A giggle. “I suppose that’s helpful.” She glanced behind her. “Do you think you’re ready to get up yet, or do you still need more time?”

Though surprised by the sudden change in topic, Klink dutifully took stock of himself. The nausea hadn’t passed and his temple hurt, but the world no longer felt like it was moving around on him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain if he’d be able to get up without help. Considering the fact that Erna’s touch had _sent_ him to the floor, he wasn’t anxious to have her touch him again.

But what was the alternative?

“Could you help me up?” he asked, doing his utmost to keep his trepidation out of his voice.

Erna nodded. “Of course.” She maneuvered herself so she was under his arm. As she helped him stand, Klink saw that Newkirk and LeBeau were no longer in the bar. Max the bartender was also missing, but he only noted that in a peripheral way. The fact that the prisoners were no longer something he had to worry about was a relief.

And, clearly, he’d given the pair plenty of time to get out of his trunk. As soon as he felt up to the task, he could leave and head back to Stalag 13.

Once Erna let him stand on his own, Klink took an experimental step. When that didn’t immediately send him back to the floor, he nodded to the Fraulein. “Thank you.” He set the now dripping bundle on the bar, then lightly probed his temple. A lump was forming there, but he found it difficult to feel too concerned about that: what was one more bruise? At least this one had a perfectly innocent explanation to go with it.

“Oh!” Erna exclaimed, scooping the bundle back up. “Let me get you some more ice for the road.”

Before Klink could assure her that that wouldn’t be necessary, she was already gone.

By this time, Max had returned to his place behind the bar. He was smiling fondly. “There’s no talking that girl out of anything. She’ll be back in a minute.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I hope your accident won’t make you think poorly of my business.”

“No,” Klink denied quickly, “naturally not. I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

Max shook his head. “You’re not the first man to fall down at the bar.” A wry smile. “Though, most of those folks had a lot more to drink than you did.”

The glass of water Klink had asked for was still on the floor, and he realized he’d never actually taken a sip of it. Not that he wanted one now, of course. Even if he did, he didn’t think bending down to fetch the glass would be a good idea. His head _was_ feeling better, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

“Oh, here’s the Fraulein with your ice,” Max announced, drawing Klink’s attention back to him.

Erna, who was standing next to Max now, smiled widely and held out a new bundle for him to take. “Here you are,” she said brightly.

Klink took the bundle and pressed it against his temple. He did have to admit that having the ice made the pain a little more bearable. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking stock of himself once more. Still nauseous but not dizzy. It was probably safe enough to make the trip back to Stalag 13 now. “I’ll, ah, I’ll return the towel.”

“Keep it,” Max insisted with an indulgent smile. “But do come back—we’re always happy to serve members of our military.”

While Klink had no intention of ever coming back here after the scene he’d made, he saw no reason to say so. “Of course. Thank you for your hospitality.” On mostly steady feet, he made his way out of the bar and into the open air. His car was still where he’d left it.

He paused near the trunk. Were the prisoners still walking around town or had they finished their business already? He made a fist and rapped once, sharply, on the trunk. When it received another knock from the inside a few seconds later, he had his answer. Oddly enough, he’d felt a little better, knowing he wasn’t completely on his own. 

* * *

Klink had managed to make it out of Hammelburg, but he wasn’t entirely certain how he’d done it. Driving had proven to be far more taxing than merely walking had been, and the nausea had only gotten worse as time went on. By the time he’d made it to the road that would eventually return him to Stalag 13, he could contain himself no longer.

Unfortunately, once he’d finished vomiting, he was dizzy again and his head pounded. He leaned against the side of the car, taking deep breaths, pleading with his stomach to settle down. How could he drive like this? He didn’t know if he could, but what _choice_ did he have?

He heard the soft scraping noise that signaled his trunk was opening, and he remained motionless as an impossible idea struck him. He couldn’t... could he? Could he afford not to? Klink wasn’t sure if he could finish the trip to Stalag 13 himself. It would certainly be easier if one of his passengers could drive him there. Not the whole way, of course—he wasn’t that stupid—, but part of it. Enough for him to recover a bit.

Then again, wouldn’t that seem _too_ strange to them? Then again again, the fact that he’d driven them into Hammelburg rather than taking them straight back to Stalag 13 and throwing them in the cooler must have seemed strange, too. What was one more strange thing?

Hesitantly, he knocked on the trunk.

As had been the case in Hammelburg, someone knocked back.

Unsure of what else to do, Klink knocked again. When this only received another knock in return, Klink decided didn’t have the patience to see how long the game would last. “Just open up, please.”

A long moment of silence, then the trunk popped open. Somehow, both Newkirk and LeBeau had managed to change back into their uniforms. Klink was almost entirely certain he didn’t want to know how that feat had been performed in his trunk.

“Hello again, Kommandant,” Newkirk offered after a few silent seconds.

“Hello, Corporal, Corporal.” Klink hesitated before deciding he might as well say it plainly. “I need one of you to drive the car.”

Newkirk and LeBeau’s expressions were a matching set of puzzlement and bewilderment. Then Newkirk coughed politely into his fist. “Mind running that by me again, Kommandant?”

Klink closed his eyes against a resurgence of the pounding in his skull. “I need one of you to drive the car.” He was uncomfortably aware how close he was to begging and, when his entreaty received no immediate response, he couldn’t hold back his frustration. “Either that, or you two can wait in the trunk for another hour or so while I recuperate.”

LeBeau’s shoulders slumped, and Newkirk didn’t seem any happier about the prospect. Then the Englander cupped his hand to whisper in LeBeau’s ear. The Frenchman shook his head, gesturing at Klink with his free hand as he whispered back to Newkirk. The pair did this a few times before, finally, LeBeau nodded his assent, looking troubled.

Newkirk returned his attention to Klink. “I’ll need your coat and hat. You and LeBeau will have to sit on the floor in the back, just in case another car passes us.” He smiled slightly. “Might get too much attention otherwise.”

Klink couldn’t argue with that. “Of course, of course.” As soon as the two corporals exited the trunk, he divested himself of his coat and hat. It was cold without them, but he knew that this discomfort was better than driving. While the shorter Englander looked like a child playing dress-up in the long coat, Klink supposed no one would be able to tell from outside the car.

Wedging himself between the front seat and the back seat to sit on the floor had been difficult. His left shoulder was pinned to his side against the front seat, while the back seat dug into his ribs as his right arm rested on the back seat itself. There hadn’t been enough room for him to keep his legs straight out in front of him, so he was obliged to bring his knees up to his chest.

After Newkirk had shut the door behind him, Klink leaned back against it and took stock of himself. His old injuries throbbed from the contortions he’d forced himself to perform; his new injuries also offered complaints about the new accommodations; his right arm was already falling asleep; and he didn’t know how he was ever going to get out of this position.

It was still better than driving.

With more than a little trepidation, he watched the cockroach live up to his name sake and easily slide behind the passenger seat. Unlike himself, LeBeau wasn’t effectively pinned in place—while the smaller man seemed content to stay where he was at the moment, nothing was keeping him from closing the small space between their feet. The Corporal noticed his scrutiny and gave him a small wave.

Before Klink could decide how to react or whether he ought to, the driver’s side door opened, startling him. A moment later, the door closed. “All right, Kommandant,” Newkirk asked as he started the ignition, “how far should I go?”

Definitely a fair question. It wouldn’t do for anyone at camp to see them switch clothes at the end of the drive, but with the way his head ached and his stomach still roiled, he didn’t want to have to drive much either. “Five minutes before the gate should be safe enough.” He thought he might be able to drive for five minutes.

“All right, Kommandant. Just let me know if you need me to stop before then.” Newkirk went silent for a moment and, when he spoke again, his voice was alight with wicked humor. “I’m sure LeBeau wouldn’t like you to be sick on him.”

“ _Très drôle, Pierre_ ,” LeBeau grumbled. “Just drive.”

From his position, he was just able to see the tops of trees and clouds begin to move as the car pulled forward. Klink closed his eyes against a new bout of nausea. The part of driving that had made his nausea worse had been watching the scenery shift, and he didn’t want to risk vomiting again by looking out the window. His paranoia insisted that he should keep watch on LeBeau anyway, to make sure he didn’t try anything, but Klink felt so miserable, he only managed a few quick glances before he gave up.

As for LeBeau, he was occupying himself by humming something that sounded _enough_ like something Klink thought he recognized for him to wonder what it was but not _enough_ like anything for him to pin it down. The Frenchman was also off-key which made it that much harder to determine which song he was in the middle of butchering. The humming wasn’t doing anything good for his headache and it was annoying, but a distraction was welcome. Anything to draw his attention away from his stomach!

“Cut that out,” Newkirk grumbled from the front. “Bad enough you have to hum, but then you don’t even do it on key!”

“And how would you know?” LeBeau demanded, affronted. “The only two songs you know are _Douce Nuit_ and God Save the Queen, and you only know which is which because one of them you stand up for.”

“At least I can hum ‘em on key!” Newkirk returned snidely. As though to prove this, the Englander started humming something that sounded just enough like God Save the Queen to be recognizable but not enough to be enjoyable.

Klink opened his eyes long enough to see that LeBeau was taking a deep breath. “Please,” he asked, no longer caring that it sounded like begging, “please don’t start humming again.”

“See?” Newkirk crowed. “The Kommandant agrees with me. You just stick to cooking, Louis—and maybe, someday, you’ll be able to cook a proper bangers and mash.”

“If it takes me the rest of my life,” LeBeau vowed, “I will retrain that ruined English palate of yours!”

If not for his headache, Klink might have found this interplay amusing. As it stood, the bickering was excruciating. “If you both don’t stop talking,” he warned, his tone flat with pain, “I will put _both_ of you back in the trunk.” It was, naturally, an empty threat, and one he regretted making the instant it was out of his mouth. He was unarmed, injured, and out-numbered—this was hardly the time to be making _threats_!

Before his panic could gain momentum, something utterly unexpected happened.

“ _Je suis désolé_ ,” apologized LeBeau, sounding genuinely contrite.

“Yeah, we were just having a bit of fun,” Newkirk agreed. “We’ll behave ourselves.”

Cautiously, Klink opened eyes he hadn’t remember screwing shut. Seeing that LeBeau hadn’t moved and actually looked as contrite as he’d sounded was enough for to ease some of Klink’s tension. “I… I would appreciate that.” He closed his eyes again, still not trusting his stomach. “Thank you.”

For a time, the only sound was the car’s engine as Newkirk drove it sedately down the road. When the Englander finally spoke again, he at least did so at more moderate volume. “How long are we going to be in the cooler for this?” His tone was inappropriately conversational, as though he were asking after the price of a painting he had no interest in buying rather than about what punishment he was due to receive.

“Oh.” Klink realized that it hadn’t even occurred to him to think about what he was going to do once they’d all returned to camp. Before, he’d been too worried about his impending trip to town to even give the matter any consideration. But, now that the subject had been raised and he had little else to occupy himself besides feeling miserable, he decided to give the problem some thought.

And it was a problem. Or could be. One of those. All of this that had happened today must seem bizarre to these two men, and Klink had no idea how to undo any of that now. As for following proper protocol, well, that train had left the station the moment he’d decided to drive into Hammelburg with two escaped prisoners in his trunk rather than returning them to Stalag 13 immediately.

Even if he wanted to start following protocol once they were back at camp, he knew whatever the punishment he gave the pair for their escapade, Colonel Hogan was sure to involve himself in the proceedings. Did Klink really want to go to the trouble of throwing the prisoners in the cooler just to have Hogan come by to talk him out of it? Assuming that Hogan _would_ talk him out of it. He didn’t like making the comparison, but he found it difficult not to: as had been the case with Adler, Klink knew who held the power in their arrangement.

He wasn’t ready to have that power used against him yet.

“Kommandant?”

 _Besides_ , Klink thought, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in his throat, _throwing them in the cooler would be poor repayment for their help_. Newkirk and LeBeau could have refused his request outright. Or they could have stolen the car, leaving him on the side of the road. Now that he was thinking about it, the prisoners could have done a lot of things. Strange that he hadn’t considered that before he’d asked for their help.

Even before General Adler had upended his life, the prospect of leaving himself at his prisoners’ mercy would have given him pause, but that was exactly what he’d done—of his own accord, no less! At least Newkirk and LeBeau _hadn’t_ taken the opportunity to do something terrible to him.

 _You’re not back at camp yet_ , a dark voice reminded him. _There’s still time._

He shook his head too sharply, then brought his unpinned hand up to his aching temple. He was being foolish. Paranoid. If the prisoners had wanted to do any of the things his paranoia was accusing them of wanting to do (he shivered as specific accusations presented themselves), they’d had ample opportunity to do so when they’d helped him into the car. If they hadn’t tried anything then, and they hadn’t, why should they make any attempts later? Why wait?

“Sir?”

As always, his paranoia had a ready answer: _They’re just looking for the right spot—they wouldn’t try anything on the side of the road. Maybe they’ll take you back to Grafweg. Newkirk knows the way as well as you do._

That was ridiculous. Yes, he generally had little reason to trust his prisoners, but Newkirk hadn’t done anything to him that night on Grafweg. As for LeBeau, he seemed to be following the Englander’s orders. Surely, he wouldn’t be doing anything without the other Corporal’s say so. Anyway, he hadn’t noticed the car turn around. They’d been pointed in the direction of camp, not Hammelburg. So, the suggestion was impossible, and he was being stupid.

Despite the cold and the solid reasoning, Klink’s hands felt slick with sweat.

 _Any woody spot would do_ , the dark voice countered. _Any place away from prying eyes where they could leave your body once they’re done using it._

Klink opened his eyes briefly, seeing the tops of trees in the window. Were there more trees than there ought to be? How many trees were there on the road to Stalag 13? He couldn’t remember. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed desperately. In a last ditch effort to stave off his rising panic, he asked himself what reason either Newkirk or LeBeau would have to do any of the terrible things his imagination was cooking up.

“Did he pass out on us?”

_You have to ask?_

“Kommandant? Are you awake?” A hand rested on his knee. Worms on his skin.

Klink tried to pull back, away from the touch, but there was nowhere to pull back to. He was trapped, the front and back seats pressing into him, pinning him into place. Blind panic swiftly made way for dull terror as the futility of the situation whelmed him. There was no point in screaming or struggling: no one to come to his rescue, and no room to struggle. He couldn’t move enough to even try fending the prisoner off. This was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He trembled impotently, waiting for the hand to move, to take liberties. He waited for the slight weight of the smaller man to pin him further.

The hand didn’t move. “ _Pierre_ , I think we need to stop the car.”

“Can it wait? We’re nearly there,” Newkirk said impatiently.

“ _Non_ ,” LeBeau insisted. “We need to stop now.”

If he hadn’t known better, Klink would have thought the Frenchman sounded afraid. He tried to pull his legs in closer to himself and failed. Nearly there? Just when he’d convinced himself that this would never happen again! “Please,” he begged, understanding as he did so that the effort would be fruitless at best. “Please, I can’t. Not again. Please.”

The car slowed to a stop. “What’s the matter with him?” Newkirk demanded.

“ _Je ne sais pas._ ” The hand began to pat his knee. “I only tried to wake him up—”

“Let go of his ruddy knee,” Newkirk ordered, exasperated. “That’s only making it worse.”

The hand left his knee, but he didn’t relax. As long as the hand had been on his knee, at least he’d known where it was. Now, it could be anywhere, and he was too much of a coward to open his eyes and look. “Don’t do this. Please.”

“Has this happened before?” LeBeau asked, ignoring the entreaty.

An unhappy affirmative noise. “When I was out with him after Adler bought it, except then he just screamed at me not to touch him—like he did with Max. Don’t know what’s brought _this_ on.”

“But you think it’s because I touched him.” LeBeau’s words held a very convincing note of guilt.

“Probably. Andrew said he acted like this when Colonel Hogan touched him, remember?”

Why were they bothering with this pretense? They already had him at their mercy—why were they waiting? Just to make him suffer? Klink’s head was pounding again, and he knew the world would be spinning if he dared open his eyes.

What was he going to do? The answer presented itself within moments: he was going to have to cooperate. He was in no position to resist and, clearly, his pleas were falling on deaf ears. The prisoners were going to, to do what they wanted regardless of what he did. Why make this more difficult on himself? There was no point in earning himself more injuries. Maybe they’d even allow him to live afterwards if he didn’t try to fight.

_‘Just stop fighting me, Wilhelm.’_

Klink shuddered, tasting bile. He almost wished they’d just get started—at least then he’d be spared this torment. And maybe the pair would do him the kindness of ending his miserable life when they were through with him. Terror dissolved into weary despair, and his breath caught in his throat before he burst into sobs. He covered his face with the hand he could move, not out of embarrassment, but with a child’s hope that hiding himself would save him from what was to come.

“What do we do?” LeBeau’s voice sounded oddly distressed.

Silence. “Guess we wait,” Newkirk said at last, not sounding particularly pleased about the prospect. “I hate to leave the car parked out in the open like this, but there’s really nowhere to hide it. Not this close to camp.”

A brief flash of hope flared within him before it died. This was a lie. The prisoners were just trying to make him easier to use—they hadn’t realized he’d already resigned himself to his fate. At this point, if he could have forced the words out, he’d have told them so. Anything to end this!

“How close to the camp _are_ we?” LeBeau asked after a moment.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

 _Were_ they lying? Would he be able to tell? Klink recalled Hogan telling him that Newkirk was a better actor than even he was. It was a struggle, between the despair and the pain in his head, to consider the situation with any kind of logic, but he remembered thinking they wouldn’t do anything on the side of the road—they’d want a secluded place. Like the woods. He’d be able to tell if they were in the middle of a lot of trees, wouldn’t he? All he’d have to do is look out the window.

With an effort, he forced his eyes open and lowered his hand. The first thing he noticed, as his eyes adjusted to the light, was that Corporal LeBeau had returned to his original position against the opposite door. LeBeau wasn’t looking at him, his gaze directed towards the floor, and his expression seemed pensive. This much alone was a comfort, but he needed more assurance than that.

He turned his own gaze upward to look through the window.

All he could see were clouds.

Klink closed his eyes and released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as new tears rolled down his cheeks. Thank God. He looked again and saw that LeBeau was staring at him with curiosity and concern. While too exhausted, mentally and physically, to feel embarrassed by the loss of control, he did feel as though he owed the pair an apology. He’d thought some pretty horrible things about them. Not that he planned on telling them that, of course.

He took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He tried to smile at the Frenchman but knew he hadn’t quite succeeded. “I’m fine now.” It’d probably would have been more believable if he weren’t still crying.

LeBeau returned the smile with interest. “ _Tres bon_. I’m glad to hear it.” He looked up over the driver’s seat. “What now?”

“We’ve still got a little ways to go,” Newkirk said slowly. “Are you ready take over, Kommandant?”

Klink considered it as he wiped the rest of his tears away. His earlier panic had done nothing good for his head or his stomach, but he didn’t think he could bear sitting here on the floor, uncomfortably pinned between the seats any longer. Even now, he could feel new panic simmering below the surface: he’d never felt claustrophobic before, but he thought he understood the sensation now. “Y-yes, I think so.” He hesitated, weighing his fear against honesty. “I’ll need some help. I don’t think I can get out of this by myself.”

A chuckle. “I’m surprised you even fit, honestly. Thought we were going to have to stick you in the trunk.” The driver’s side door opened and closed.

“Lean forward,” LeBeau advised, “before he opens the door.”

Although it took some doing and there were a few terrifying moments when Newkirk and LeBeau had to grab onto him, Klink finally found himself free of the car. His whole body felt like one large overstretched muscle, and he knew he was going to need a Eukadol once he got back to camp. Leaning heavily against the side of the car, he took in large, desperate gulps of air. He could feel himself shaking and did his best to pretend it was due to the cold. 

Though, he _was_ cold.

“You sure you’re all right to drive?” Newkirk asked, clearly skeptical. He’d already taken off the long coat and was holding it out for Klink to take.

There was not even the slightest chance that he was ever going to put himself through _that_ again! Even if it meant stopping every minute so he could pull over and vomit. Klink nodded quickly before the prisoner could rescind the offer, taking the coat back. He put it on gratefully, enjoying both the warmth and the extra layer of protection. While he felt more in control now, he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to lose it again. Though it was faint, he could still feel himself trembling.

Before he could remember not to, he wrapped his arms around his middle.

LeBeau seemed hesitant before sighing. “What happens when we get back to Stalag 13?”

Considering, from their point of view, that the question had precipitated this whole mess, Klink could understand the hesitation. He was certain his reassuring smile was nothing of the sort but was too drained to care very much. “If, if you two can somehow manage to be where you’re supposed to be and, and not in my trunk when I return to camp and order Roll Call, I’m willing to, to pretend this never happened.”

Both Corporals looked surprised. Then they traded glances. “All right, Kommandant,” Newkirk agreed. “I think we can do that.”

LeBeau nodded. “ _Oui_ , Kommandant, it will be like we never left.”

Klink couldn’t ask for more than that. Even with his headache, he felt lighter. “Then get back in the trunk, and we can be on our way.”

In less than a minute, the two prisoners were safely hidden away in the trunk. Klink retook the driver’s seat and wasted no time getting the car started and moving once more. He thought, if he kept driving slowly and did not look at the scenery to either side of the road, he could do this. He did his best to keep his attention focused on the road itself as his thoughts wandered.

As frustrated as he was with Colonel Hogan, he had to admit that the American had been right about one thing: getting out of camp had been just what he’d needed. The trip had been a disaster by any measure, but it hadn’t been completely worth forgetting about. Although he hadn’t been ready for dealing with other people in town, he at least had some assurance that such days weren’t as far off as he’d feared.

He’d survived, and that was definitely a good start.

However, his gratitude to Hogan was tempered by the knowledge that the American had had other things in mind besides Klink’s welfare when he’d made that suggestion. If Hogan had just been honest with him, Klink could have been prepared—at the very least, he would have known better than to go to the same place the prisoners had planned to go!

He would keep his end of the agreement with Corporal Newkirk and LeBeau, but he would be having words with Colonel Hogan when he got back to camp. Which, at his current speed, would take... Well, he’d have plenty of time to decide just what words he was going to have when he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. This is the ten year anniversary for this story--well, not yet, but close enough. OMG. I feel so old. *cries*


	91. Minding the Fort Redux (NEW)

It always felt good when a plan came together: after spending so much time making certain every contingency was covered and all the pieces were in place, the satisfaction of a job well done was its own reward. On the other hand, it felt _fantastic_ when a barely cobbled together thing no one in their right mind would call a plan went off without a hitch. Mostly due to the relief that, while flying by the seat of your pants, you’d actually managed to stick the landing.

They’d all figured Klink had changed his mind about leaving camp today—it was already late afternoon and only getting later—, and if not for the fact that Colonel Hogan had happened to be looking out his window and had caught sight of Klink and Schultz leaving, the mission would have been completely scrapped. Carter and Kinch had had no plan to stall Klink handy (having not expected to _have_ to!), but Newkirk had pushed a pack of cards into Carter’s hands, telling him to improvise. All they’d need was a few minutes. 

And it had gone off without a hitch.

After making sure to return Newkirk’s cards to his bunk, Kinch and Carter moved on to Colonel Hogan’s office to give him the good news. “Mission accomplished, sir. Newkirk and LeBeau should have gotten plenty of time to get into place—thanks to Carter’s card trick.”

Carter ducked his head and laughed. “Well, it was your talent show idea that really sold it.” Then he added brightly, “ _And_ Klink didn’t nix the idea of having one.”

This declaration got a laugh from Hogan. “Good to know. The boys could probably do with a bit more entertainment before too long.” His expression sobered. “Schultz went with him?”

Kinch nodded, surprised this much could have been in doubt. “I don’t think you could have pried him loose with a crow bar— _you_ know how Schultz hovers.”

The Colonel’s look of relief lasted until he looked out the window. “Klink must have found another crow bar,” he muttered, scowling. This was all the explanation he offered before pushing passed them and leaving the room at something approaching a run. 

Just when Kinch had decided to follow Hogan out of the barracks, Carter spoke.

“Do you have a minute, Kinch?” Carter’s normally cheerful voice sounded oddly meek, and he was fiddling with his gloves. “I need to talk to you about something, if you’ve got the time.”

Odds were good the Colonel could handle whatever was happening without him, and considering how Carter was acting, whatever problem he was having could be serious. “Of course. What’s the matter?”

Instead of answering, Carter walked passed him to close the door. Then he turned, his brow furrowed with distress. “You know I think you’re one of the smartest, nicest fellas I know, right?”

Kinch blinked. “I’m glad you think so,” he said after it became obvious that the other Sergeant meant the question in earnest and was expecting an answer. “But I’m nothing _that_ special.” He waited a few more seconds for Carter to explain himself before prompting, “What’s this about?”

Carter bit his lip. “I... It doesn’t matter why I thought so, and I know it’s not true now, but I thought the Colonel didn’t trust me any more.” His smile was fleeting. “Peter told me I was over-thinking things, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. So, I confronted the Colonel about it.”

“When was that?” Kinch asked, wondering what being confronted by Carter about something looked like. Carter was generally the easy-going sort, and it took a lot to get him really upset. 

“Yesterday,” Carter supplied distractedly, his thoughts clearly otherwise occupied. After a moment he’d apparently found the words he’d been looking for. “I didn’t ask him right away if he didn’t trust me—I wasn’t ready to hear him say that—, so I beat around the bush a little.” He crossed his arms in front of himself, slumping a bit against the door. “I’d only meant to ask if rank had to do with why he was sharing more information with _you_ than with _me_ , but _he_ took it to mean that I had a problem with you—that I had a problem with being subordinate to you because you’re a Negro.”

His mouth formed a tight line. “I don’t, and I told him so, but it... it bothered me he’d even ask me that—you know the Colonel is pretty sharp about people.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I thought about it later, and I realized he was _right_. I _did_ have a problem with you, and I didn’t even see it.” Before Kinch could ask, he elaborated in a tone full of remorse and shame. “I was jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” Kinch asked, utterly lost. “Why would you be jealous of _me_?”

“Because he trusts your opinion more than mine,” Carter snapped. His mouth curved into something too full of self-loathing to be a smile. “And he _should_ because I’m only good for blowing things up—you’re the one who understands what Klink’s going through.” He slumped further, his arms falling back to his sides. “I’m sorry, Kinch. I had no right to be jealous.”

Kinch hadn’t come into this conversation expecting a confession or an apology, and he considered both carefully to decide if either he’d been given had been warranted. Certainly, up until this moment, he’d had no idea the other Sergeant had been jealous of him! It wasn’t as though Carter had been treating him any differently. 

In the end, Kinch was left a bit nonplussed. Why was Carter so torn up about this? In an effort to lighten the heavy mood, he offered the younger man a wide smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself—no one here’s a saint!”

But Carter was already shaking his head. “That doesn’t make it right,” he bit out, his anger clearly directed towards himself. “I should know better. I _do_ know better.” His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “I get flack sometimes, but most folks don’t know I’m not full-white until someone tells them; you get it all the time, and you don’t need any more coming your way from me.” He took a deep breath and his hands relaxed. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad the Colonel understands you’re a man worth listening to, and I shouldn’t have been selfish enough to be jealous of that.” His wide eyes asked for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, Kinch. I’ll try not to do it again.”

It was easy to forget that Andrew-Little-Deer-Who-Runs-Swift-And-Sure-Through-Forest Carter _wasn’t_ completely white because, as he’d said, he passed so easily. It wasn’t until you got close, uncomfortably close, that you saw hints his heritage wasn’t as ‘pure’ as it seemed at first glance. Whenever the fact he was part Indian came up, it was open season for jokes and jibes about his mixed culture. Usually meant in good fun, but still ignorant and unkind. To his shame, Kinch had made the Geronimo and teepee jokes, too, before he’d realized how the younger man really felt about them.

Still, as he’d already stated, no one here was a saint. Kinch certainly wasn’t. He reached out and put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “I think we’re all allowed a weak moment every now and then,” he said, smiling to show he wasn’t forcing himself to accept the apology, “but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you, Andrew.”

Carter’s answering smile lit up his face like a signal flare. “It does, thank you, Kinch.” His pale cheeks flushed, and he rubbed his arm. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

Kinch had opened his mouth to assure him that it had been no problem when a knock on the door interrupted him. 

The door opened to reveal Baker. “Oh. Do you know where the Colonel is? London’s on the line for him.”

* * *

The Colonel set down the headphones, frowning deeply. “Well, the good news is that the drop is definitely going to happen tomorrow night.”

No one ever prefaced news with ‘the good news is’ without having a ‘the bad news is’ to follow after. Kinch decided to cut to the chase. “What’s the bad news?”

Hogan was silent for a long moment. “Herr Adler attempted suicide last night.” He shook his head. “Apparently, he’d been too drunk to shoot himself properly, so London’s agents found him alive but barely. He managed to nearly blow his entire lower jaw off, and he lost a lot of blood before they got to him.” He smiled grimly. “They’re not sure he’s going to survive.”

While what he’d described was gruesome, Kinch thought Hogan sounded overly invested in the elder Adler’s welfare. “Why do you care about this so much?”

“ _I_ don’t.” Hogan smile became wan. “Klink does, and I’m not looking forward to telling him what’s happened.”

The solution seemed easy enough. “Then don’t.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered the idea,” Hogan assured him. “I’m still considering it, as a matter of fact, but it seems like the sort of pointless lie that could come back to bite me later.” He sighed. “It’d help if I understood why Klink cares so much about what happens to that man.”

Kinch had spent some time wondering about that himself since Hogan had mentioned Klink’s reluctance to give up the matchbook last night. “Maybe Klink feels sorry for him.” Not forcing Hogan to ask, he explained his reasoning. “You heard how long Klink tried to keep the truth to himself—how carefully he’d tried to correct Herr Adler’s assumptions without accusing General Adler of anything.” And they’d heard how much those efforts had cost him. “It could be Klink thinks he did more to hurt Herr Adler than Herr Adler did to hurt him in the long run.”

In the face of Hogan’s incredulousness, he shrugged. “Klink must be used to getting punched by now, but knowing he’s left a grieving father with such a terrible revelation about his dead son?”

Hogan considered it. “You could be right,” he conceded, his expression thoughtful. “I’m going to have to tell Klink sooner or later, but I think I’ll wait until I know for certain whether or not Herr Adler is going to survive.” He stood. “I’m heading back to the barracks. Maybe Klink’s come back already.”

Kinch had initially been skeptical of the idea, but the Colonel’s rationale for wanting Klink to get out of camp for a while had been sound. Besides, with the protective stance Schultz had taken lately, the guard wouldn’t let anything happen to Klink in Hammelburg. It was unfortunate, therefore, that Klink had elected to leave the Sergeant behind.

Of course, even when he’d thought Schultz _would_ be going, Kinch had had his reservations about the _rest_ of the Colonel’s plan. He’d tried to talk him out of it last night, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. It was certainly too late to change Hogan’s mind about it now!

But maybe he’d have more luck changing Hogan’s mind about something else. There really was no perfect time to bring this subject up, and Kinch felt the longer he waited, the easier it would be for the Colonel to brush the concerns off. “May I speak freely, sir?”

Hogan hesitated for a moment. “Must be serious,” he commented, his tone disconcertingly light, “or it must be about a subject you think I’m not going to want to hear you out on.” He retook his seat. “What’s on your mind, Kinch?”

Kinch put his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. “I think you should find out who Sergeant Wilson is treating—it’s important for our security and the smooth running of our operation.” 

For several long seconds, Hogan was silent, his neutral expression offering nothing of his thoughts. “Because the homosexual personality is unfit for military service, and homosexuals can’t handle high pressure situations?” He seemed almost insulted by Kinch’s surprise. “I’m an officer, remember? I’ve heard the rationale before.”

Even as Kinch felt his face go hot at the rebuke, he felt his confusion grow. He let his hands fall back to his sides. “You don’t agree?”

Hogan sat back in his chair and tilted his head. “Assuming I _did_ agree, what would you have me _do_? It’d do no good to discharge anyone, and if I started transferring them out, Wilson would notice, and he seems pretty keen to keep helping them—I could end up alienating a very useful member of my team.” He half-smirked. “And I know _you_ aren’t suggesting I segregate them from the rest of the prison population.”

“Of course not,” Kinch denied, noting the word choice in combination with the smirk. Was the Colonel deliberately trying to provoke him? If he was, why would he want to? “I don’t want to see any of them get hurt, and neither should you.” He shook his head, unable to completely hide his frustration. Why was Hogan being so intractable about this? “You should want to know what’s happening with the men under your command and help them.”

Hogan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Help them? How could I help them?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to be able to cure their,” he waved his hand vaguely, “lady-phobia or whatever the headshrinkers up at HQ have decided is wrong with them. Unless you think they’re _all_ ‘desperation’ cases, in which case,” he smiled wryly, “there’s still not a whole lot _I_ can do. And I doubt the girls we work with want to become ‘comfort women’.”

Was the Colonel being purposely obtuse, or did he genuinely not see the obvious solution? “You could keep them from volunteering for missions.” When Hogan didn’t respond, Kinch felt himself scowl. “If you don’t know who they are, you’re opening the door for them to keep reverse malingering!” 

“Reverse malingering,” Hogan echoed slowly before grinning. “I like it. If I have to take my pick, I think I’ll take the reverse malingerers over the other kind every time!” Then his expression sobered. “Men who volunteer and don’t make the cut get less risky jobs back here, and I’ve _never_ sent out raw recruits for anything vital.” He shrugged. “If homosexuals really can’t cut it, they’ll be weeded out of the risky business. If they can, who am I to turn away useful agents? I can’t exactly afford to be too picky when it comes to capable personnel, Kinch.”

Kinch was momentarily dumbfounded. He’d been convinced the Colonel hadn’t given the matter any thought, content to just push the issue to the side because he was busy with the Klink problem. Clearly, that wasn’t the case at all. He found himself wondering if _he’d_ thought enough about the matter. Hogan’s rebuttals were more than fair, and if he’d really been thinking, points he could have realized himself. 

Hogan seemed almost disappointed. “I’m surprised _you’d_ accept the official party line on who can and can’t fight for their country.”

It didn’t take Kinch more than a fraction of a second to see the comparison the Colonel was making. His eyes narrowed, but he managed to keep his tone level. “ _That_ isn’t the same situation.”

“Of course not,” Hogan agreed easily, “but the rationale sure is similar.” He hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “I got some... complaints when I desegregated this camp and appointed you as my second in command.”

Kinch was under no illusions about the difficulties the Colonel had run into desegregating Stalag 13, though Hogan had not shared many of said difficulties with him at the time. As he considered what some of these complaints probably had been, he saw what Hogan was getting at. “Unit cohesion, sharing barracks and showers?”

A nod. “Those were certainly some of them,” Hogan confirmed, “but not all the complaints came from members of the ‘Southern Gentleman’s Club.’ I also got complaints from people who were concerned for _your_ sake; they were certain I was going to overtax your brain with my unreasonable demands. I was told your sort were better suited to manual labor, and that I shouldn’t trust you with anything requiring a cool head.” His smile became abruptly savage. “They learned the error of their ways soon enough.”

And the ones who hadn’t had been transferred. There were still bigots at Stalag 13, but they’d learned to keep their claptrap quiet and out of the Colonel’s hearing. Having had it laid out this way, Kinch could see Hogan’s point. He wasn’t entirely certain the comparison was fair, but it wasn’t completely without merit at the surface level. At the moment though, he was finding it difficult to believe Hogan would follow the parallel he’d made all the way to its conclusion. “Are you going to let everyone know you’re throwing out the book for the homosexuals, too?”

Hogan’s expression was an interesting mixture of chagrin and disgust. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I was able to desegregate Stalag 13, in large part, because I’m not under the direct eye of the Pentagon, and London has different ideas about race relations than the United States does. To that point, many of the men here aren’t Americans; they’re from countries which don’t have our history—they certainly don’t have Jim Crow laws. As for Klink,” he shook his head, “he never minded how I sorted my men, and the other Germans who visit certainly don’t care how we Allies decide to conduct ourselves.

“But most of the governments represented here see homosexuals the way the States do: as a problem—either a moral one or a mental one, but it’s a problem. The men would never stand for it, and the ones who would wouldn’t _dare_ to.” His already serious expression became grim. “Even if that wasn’t true, they’re safer from the Germans this way.”

That much was certainly true, as much as Kinch wished he didn’t know it. There was already a worse case scenario plan for the Jewish service members in place—while some had been given new dog tags, no one was going to believe that a Goldstein or a Rosenberg had been born a Catholic. At least one couldn’t tell a homosexual by looking at him or knowing his name.

“I’ve already spoken to Wilson,” Hogan continued, “and it _does_ seem he’s still in business here.” He smiled slightly. “He refused to give me any names, but I told him, as I told you, I don’t want to know any. If there’s any problems, he’ll come to me off the record. I also impressed upon him that should I get concrete proof anyone under my command is a homosexual, I’d have to do something about it.”

Kinch frowned. “But you said—”

Hogan held up his hand to interrupt the protest. “You and I know I’m not going to discharge anyone, but I can’t let that piece of knowledge go further than us.”

He could understand a high level of secrecy considering the sensitivity of the subject, but not letting Wilson know when the medic was involved up to his eyeballs? It seemed unnecessarily cruel. “Wilson wouldn’t cause any problems for you.” His brow furrowed. “He’d get himself in hot water, too, if he didn’t keep quiet.”

“Accidents happen,” Hogan countered deftly. “Wilson’s done his best to keep his side business a secret, but one unguarded comment relayed second-hand was enough for _you_ to suss out what he’s been up to—imagine what would happen if he got too comfortable around one of his patients.” He shook his head. “The more people in the know, the greater the risk; you know that. And if the wrong people find out I’m willing to let the homosexuals in my ranks be, I could lose the support of the men who don’t see it the way I do. I could be accused of sympathizing, or even of being a homosexual myself.” A strangely nonchalant shrug. “My operation survived my being branded a race traitor, but I don’t think it can survive if enough of the men think I’m a homosexual.” His sudden smile was wry. “Because the homosexual personality is unfit for military service, and homosexuals can’t handle high pressure situations.”

The Colonel could have a flare for the dramatic when he wanted to, no doubt. The worst part was realizing he was probably right: between the troubles with London and knee jerk reactions, odds were good the operation could take a critical blow in efficacy if word got around that ‘Papa Bear’ wasn’t making an effort to weed homosexuals out of his ranks. Although Kinch doubted anyone could look at Colonel Hogan and truly believe for a moment that he was an actual homosexual, seeming too sympathetic could be damning enough.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” Kinch said, returning the Colonel’s smile with a more chagrined version. “Are you going to tell anyone besides me?”

Hogan shook his head. “I didn’t think of the topic until Wilson brought it up; I imagine most of the men just aren’t thinking of it either. I’d prefer to keep it that way, if possible. Naturally, this conversation is off the record as well.”

Again, nothing Kinch could argue with. “Understood, sir.” 

He stood and stretched, putting Kinch in the mind of a lazy cat getting up from a comfortable nap. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Kinch?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of _something_ ,” Kinch rejoined lightly, “but I’m satisfied for now.”

As he’d hoped, the Colonel chuckled. “Okay then. I’m going to go see if Klink’s come back.”

Kinch watched him go then took the seat he’d vacated. It was, he decided, a quite intricate game the Colonel was playing: different lies and half-truths depending on to whom he was speaking at the time. Of course, that was par for the course for Hogan, but it was different to see him in action, playing the same game he played with the Germans, with his allies. With _him_. Because Hogan was playing with him as well. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, because Hogan was nothing if not a professional at what he did, but Kinch had finally realized something important: despite the Colonel laying out his rationale for not concerning himself with who was and wasn’t a homosexual, he’d never actually said what his view on them _was_. At times, he’d sounded sympathetic, especially with the comparison between homosexuals and coloreds in the military—which Kinch still hadn’t decided was fair or not!—, but he’d never _said_ he was. Only that he could be _accused_ of being so. 

As for his rationale, it had been entirely independent of his personal feelings towards homosexuals, and every question Kinch had asked that so much as brushed against the subject had been met with a hypothetical—‘even if I could’, ‘even if I wanted to’, ‘assuming I did’. 

So, whatever his true feelings were, he didn’t want Kinch to know them. 

Which was fair, he supposed. The Colonel had the right to be as cagey as he wanted as long as he got the job done, which he did. As for a motive for not sharing his true thoughts on the matter, Kinch didn’t think he had enough information to choose one. Perhaps it was enough to know, current events with Klink to the side, Hogan was still an intensely private man. If there was another reason, Kinch had no reason right now to try sussing it out beyond his own curiosity.

Right now, there were other matters to concern himself with. Hogan had given him a lot to think about when it came to homosexuals in the military, and he’d rather do his thinking down here, in quiet seclusion, without an audience. 

* * *

Hilda and Schultz had planned on telling the Kommandant today that Langenscheidt was now in the know. By the time Hilda had had the chance to share with Schultz what the Corporal had told her yesterday, they’d both agreed, with everything that had happened, waiting for a new day and a fresh start would be best. However, as soon as Schultz had brought the Big Shot his breakfast, he’d realized today probably wouldn’t be the best time either. Even for what had become the usual for him, Klink had been acting anxious, and it had only gotten worse as the day progressed. 

Which was why it had been such a surprise when the Kommandant had suddenly decided around 1500 to drop everything and go to Hammelburg to do... _something_. Considering how jumpy the Big Shot had gotten even around people he knew, that he would suddenly want to go off and surround himself with strangers was bizarre. Schultz hadn’t been as surprised as he’d have liked to have been that the Big Shot hadn’t taken him up on his offer to drive him there. 

What _had_ surprised him had been Colonel Hogan coming to him minutes after the staff car had pulled out of Stalag 13, demanding to know why Schultz hadn’t gone with Klink to Hammelburg. Never mind how the prisoner had known the Big Shot had planned to go to _Hammelburg_ in the first place—it wasn’t as though the Kommandant had _announced_ it! Schultz _had_ taken some comfort in how quickly the prisoner’s obvious worries disappeared when Schultz had shared Klink’s intention to only be gone for a couple hours.

Said comfort had utterly deserted him when a ‘couple hours’ had come and went without the Big Shot’s return. When Fraulein Hilda’s father, Herr Neumann, had come for her at the usual time around 1700, he’d told Schultz he hadn’t seen anyone on the road. Hilda had extorted a promise from Schultz to call her the moment the Kommandant returned, earning her a strange look from her father. Schultz had watched them go, hoping he’d be able to make that call before nightfall. Hoping he’d be able to make that call at all.

With Hilda gone, he’d stationed Langenscheidt in her place, to answer the telephone should it ring. He didn’t want to take the chance of missing a call from the Kommandant. If whatever the Big Shot had been planning to do in Hammelburg went badly enough for him to call camp, Schultz didn’t want to risk a delay in getting him whatever help he needed. The post he’d chosen for himself was right by the gates with Corporal Kruger. Kruger had been confused by Schultz’s presence but, thankfully, didn’t ask any questions. 

The road to Stalag 13 was not a busy one—if you had no business at Stalag 13, you had no business being on this road, either—, and for that, Schultz had been grateful. His hopes weren’t being constantly raised and dashed. He did realize, as he kept careful watch, he was being foolish. After all, a round trip to and from town took almost an hour and forty-five minutes alone: unless the Kommandant only planned to spend a half hour in town, naturally, it would take him longer than two hours to get back.

Still, it was difficult not to worry.

Schnitzer’s white truck cresting the hill about an hour later had been a disappointment, but the dog trainer’s assurance he’d passed a staff car heading towards camp not too long ago had been a relief. From the way Schnitzer had described the situation, it should have taken the Kommandant, at most, five minutes to arrive.

After a whole half hour had passed without any sign of a staff car, Schultz’s worries had returned tenfold. Schnitzer had finished exchanging the dogs and had left himself about five minutes ago, leaving Schultz and Kruger alone at the gates. If it weren’t for the fact Klink hadn’t been gone long enough yet to justify going after him, Schultz would have done so. As it was, while the sky was darkening, the day waning into evening, it wasn’t _late_ yet. 

But Klink _was_. What was keeping him!

Kruger’s sidelong glances continued to grow more and more blatant, and Schultz realized it was only a matter of time before the Corporal could contain himself no longer. None of the questions the young man was likely to ask would be ones Schultz wanted to answer. 

He could come up with worse case scenarios to explain what was keeping the Big Shot anywhere. Might as well do it somewhere warmer. “I’m going back to the office building. Come to me the moment the Kommandant arrives.”

“Of course, Sergeant,” Kruger said, his puzzled tone matching his expression.

As Schultz started walking away from the gates, he was tempted to drop by Barracks Two to ask Colonel Hogan if he had any ideas as to _why_ the Kommandant would be coming back so late from Hammelburg before deciding against it. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the prisoner taking in circles around him, and he didn’t know what he’d do in the event the American actually deigned to give him a straight answer. Any answer to the question would undoubtedly be something more than a prisoner should know.

He’d made it to the steps of the office building and had been about to start going up them when he heard the shouting.

“Sergeant! Sergeant Schultz!”

Schultz turned to find Kruger running towards him. Immediately,worry twisted his guts. If the Kommandant had come back and nothing was wrong, Kruger wouldn’t look so distressed. He certainly wouldn’t be running and shouting! He started back the way he’d come, to meet the Corporal half way, gradually gaining speed. “What’s happened?”

As Kruger breathlessly explained what was waiting for Schultz beyond the gates, Schultz cursed himself for failing to convince Klink to take him along—he didn’t know what had happened to the Big Shot, but he was certain it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been there to help. He’d have to take the risk of pushing harder the next time the Kommandant was being stubborn. If there was a next time. With that thought, he forced himself to run faster.

* * *

Klink closed his eyes for a second against another lurch in his stomach. Not much further now. He could do this. He had to. He only had a mile or so left. The car was moving so slowly Schultz could have outpaced it without breaking a sweat, and it was _still_ moving too quickly for his comfort. He tasted bile and swallowed hard. He couldn’t stop the car again. Stopping the car would mean taking even longer to get back to camp. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to return to Stalag 13 and sit absolutely motionless for an hour or two. 

While still angry with Hogan, his desire to have it out with the man had all but disappeared. His head ached, his vision swam, both of which contributed to his unsettled stomach. The vertigo topping it all off wasn’t helping either. The glances he caught of his face in the rear view mirror were distressing because he knew it’d be obvious to anyone who saw him that something had happened on his trip, and he’d be obliged to offer some kind of explanation, and he really, really, didn’t want to admit he’d panicked because a woman had put her hands on him. 

There was nothing for it, of course. 

At last, the gates of the Stalag appeared around the bend in the road. Klink didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see them. He swallowed again and risked increasing his speed slightly. That had been a mistake. Before he could even get close enough to talk to the guard, he had to stop the car and get out. He was so tired of vomiting—it wasn’t as though he’d had much in his stomach to begin with!

He was vaguely aware of shouts from the gate, but he ignored them to lean against the car and breathe in great gulps of air. Maybe he’d stopped the car in time. He felt so miserable and exhausted that the unexpected hand on his arm only made him flinch away. 

“Kommandant! Are you all right?”

Klink opened his eyes. “Corporal Kruger.” He took another deep breath, hoping to stave off another round of heaves. “Get me Sergeant Schultz, then … then take the car back to the motor pool.” He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it to the office on his own, for one, and he wanted some time to recover without someone hovering and asking questions. Also, there were the prisoners in the trunk to consider—they’d hardly be able to return to their barracks ‘like they never left’ if their transportation was stuck outside the gates. 

“Yes, sir!”

He heard the young man run away at full pelt but did not watch him go. His stomach was _finally_ settling, and he didn’t want to do anything to change that. By the time Kruger returned with Schultz, Klink felt as though moving wouldn’t be an immediately terrible idea. 

“What happened?” The Sergeant sounded equal parts concerned and panicked with a hearty dash of heavy breathing. When Klink turned his head to look at him, he saw Schultz’s face was ruddy with exertion. “Did this happen in Hammelburg?”

Klink ignored Schultz’s questions for the moment. If he _had_ to have this conversation with the guard, he didn’t want to have it _here_. He took stock of himself and decided, as long as he had some support, he’d be able to travel. “Give me your arm.”

While Schultz was clearly surprised by the request, he didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Kommandant.” 

Hesitantly, Klink took the proffered arm and allowed Schultz to lead him through the gates. As they walked, he waited for Schultz repeat his earlier questions and was pleasantly surprised when none were forthcoming. He knew that wouldn’t last, but he was glad the Sergeant was restraining himself for the time being. 

Climbing up the steps saw a brief return of the vertigo but nothing as bad as he’d been feeling earlier. When he and Schultz entered the building, he was surprised to find Corporal Langenscheidt sitting in Fraulein Hilda’s chair, his face immediately adopting an expression of concern. “What are you doing there?”

The Corporal blinked owlishly at him for a moment, then stood and gave him a slow salute. “Sergeant... Sergeant Schultz asked me to wait for any telephone calls,” he said distractedly. While he wasn’t saying it, Klink knew what he was thinking: ‘You look terrible.’

Which he already knew and didn’t need Langenscheidt to think at him. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He let go of Schultz’s arm, figuring his words might be more convincing if he wasn’t using the Sergeant to stay upright. Then he took a couple of steps towards his office, relieved he seemed steady enough to travel under his own power after all. “I’m fine.” 

He heard Schultz telling Langenscheidt to get the prisoner’s medic. What exactly was having the prisoner’s medic check him over going to accomplish? If his head injury was serious, Wilson wouldn’t be able to do anything for it. There wasn’t even any point in _finding out_ if his head injury was serious, honestly. It wasn’t as though he could risk going to a hospital! And, if his head injury _wasn’t_ serious, what was the point in wasting both of their times? Did he really need a _medic_ to tell him to put ice on his bruises? 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, loud enough for the words to reverberate painfully in his skull. Although what he really wanted was to lay down, he decided taking a quick rest at his desk before continuing on to his quarters would be the better idea. He still felt dizzy, and he didn’t want to ask Schultz for his support again—it’d hardly bolster his point about being fine, after all.

Once he sat down, Schultz came to the front of the desk, his expression radiating worry. “What happened, Kommandant? Did someone do this to you?” Despite the angry tone his words took on, mercifully, the guard seemed to realize the need to speak softly. 

“It was an accident,” Klink denied in a way he hoped invited no speculation. “I fell, and it was my fault.” At a later date, if necessary, he could go into the more specific (and embarrassing) detail. 

“I’ve sent Langenscheidt to get Sergeant Wilson for you.”

“That’s not necessary.” The room was slightly too bright, and he closed his eyes briefly. “I just have a headache.”

“I think you should let him look at you anyway,” Schultz insisted. “Head injuries can be dangerous.”

Klink took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his temper under control. He had so little energy at the moment, and the sound of his own voice made his head pound. “There’s no _point_. I can’t risk going to the hospital if there’s something really wrong, and if there isn’t anything really wrong, then why waste everyone’s _time_!”

For several blissful seconds, there was silence. 

Then it was broken. “This could be serious.” Schultz’s tone was an insulting mixture of cajoling and parental anxiousness. “I know you can’t go to the hospital, but you _need_ to—”

Despite his efforts, Klink could feel his temper slipping. He didn’t _need_ to be patronized by his subordinate, for one thing. “All I _need_ is some quiet, if you can manage that.” He closed his eyes again. It was so _bright_ in here!

“Kommandant?”

Klink opened his eyes and saw Langenscheidt had entered his office, standing behind Colonel Hogan and in front of Sergeant Wilson. The way the guard was staring at him from behind the Senior POW reminded Klink of a child peeking around its mother—wary, but curious.

“I’ve brought Sergeant Wilson,” he explained as though Klink couldn’t see that fact for himself, “as Sergeant Schultz requested.”

“And Colonel Hogan, too, it seems.” While he didn’t truly feel prepared to have it out with Hogan as he’d planned to on the drive back to Stalag 13, he didn’t see where he had much of a choice. Either he spoke to the American now, or he waited for the prisoner to break into his quarters again. If those were his two options... “I might as well get _this_ over with.” He waved his hands to send the others on their way. “ _All_ of you can leave except for Colonel Hogan.”

“But sir—!” This time Schultz had forgotten the need for quiet. 

“Just go,” Klink bit out, doing his damnedest not to wince, not to show his weakness in front of Hogan. He summoned his inner reserves and turned his attention fully onto Schultz. “I need to speak with my Senior POW alone, and we’re _not_ to be disturbed. Understood?”

Thankfully, Schultz seemed out of arguments. “Yes, sir,” he said softly, saluting. Moments later, Klink and Hogan were alone.


	92. More Cards on the Table

After Schnitzer had come with the fresh dogs for the week and Newkirk and LeBeau had failed to reveal themselves, Hogan had been concerned but not overly so. With the late start Klink had taken, time had been tight and the risk that the pair might miss their ride wasn’t as remote as it could have been. Naturally, if they were stuck in town, getting them back to camp before they were missed could be an issue, but, before he made any grand plans to sneak them back from Hammelburg, he had to at least wait until Klink returned in case they’d been able to make a round trip with him. Seeing as he’d already been gone for two hours, it seemed as though Klink had decided to spend more than five minutes in Hammelburg after all. 

Or there had been trouble, and Klink, being on his own, hadn’t been able to contact anyone.

If Hogan hadn’t been keeping watch out of his window, he would have missed the Commandant’s return. Rather than pulling the car up to the office building, it appeared that Klink had opted to park it back at the motor pool and walk. From the way he and Schultz were walking, Hogan couldn’t see Klink well, but he did notice that the Commandant had hold of the guard’s arm. Little alarm bells rung in his mind even as he told himself that there was no doubt a perfectly logical explanation for what he was seeing. The ground could be slick, and maybe Klink was more worried about falling than he was about having Schultz touch him. In any event, it didn’t appear that Schultz was bearing much of Klink’s weight—Klink seemed to be moving under his own power, more or less. 

Kinch and Carter had gone to the motor pool straight away to find out if his agents were still in the staff car’s trunk. Needless to say, Hogan had been quite relieved to see the Sergeants return with the Corporals in tow. As soon as they entered his office, he stood to greet them. “You’re back late,” he commented lightly, noting the pair’s uncomfortable expressions with some concern. “What happened?”

The two Corporals exchanged glances. 

“We have passed along the list,” LeBeau offered after a moment. “Max said he will pass the parts on to Schnitzer for next week.”

After several long, uncomfortable seconds, Hogan ventured, “Sounds like it went off without a hitch.”

Newkirk coughed. “Not exactly.”

A knock at the door prevented Hogan from giving his opinion on the pair’s odd coyness. If something had gone wrong, they knew better than to force him to pry the story out of them!

Langenscheidt stepped in, looking distinctly uneasy. “Colonel Hogan, Sergeant Schultz sent me out to fetch Sergeant Wilson.” He hesitated. “I think it might be serious.”

“Isn’t it always?” Hogan quipped with a grin he didn’t feel. He _knew_ he should have realized something was wrong when Klink was willingly holding onto Schultz for support! The only question was what the hell had happened this time.

Luckily, Wilson had either heard the guard say he was needed or had developed an instinct for this sort of thing and had been ready to leave immediately. Hogan followed Langenscheidt and Wilson out, concerned enough to put off hearing what LeBeau and Newkirk had to say until after he’d found out what the new problem with the Commandant was.

There was no one in Hilda’s office—unsurprising as the secretary had gone home a little more than an hour ago. The first thing Hogan heard when Langenscheidt opened the door to Klink’s office was Schultz’s voice.

“This could be serious,” he was saying, almost pleading, almost begging. “I understand you can’t go to the hospital, but you still need to—”

“All I _need_ ,” Klink snapped, his annoyance not quite hiding the pain in his own voice, “is some quiet, if you can _manage_ that.”

Stepping inside the office after Langenscheidt and Wilson, Hogan immediately saw what Schultz had sounded so worried about. Klink looked terrible: sweating and pale with a bruised lump on his right temple which hadn’t been there when he’d left camp. The eye on that side was well on its way to becoming a beaut of a shiner, and the circles under both eyes were even starker than they’d been the night before.

What the hell had _happened_ in Hammelburg!

“Kommandant?” Langenscheidt said nervously from behind Hogan, making Hogan realize he’d actually stepped in front of the guard to get a closer look at Klink, “I’ve brought Sergeant Wilson as Sergeant Schultz requested.”

“And Colonel Hogan, too, it seems,” Klink grumbled. His expression looked equal parts bitter and weary. “I might as well get _this_ over with.” He made a shooing motion with both hands. “All of you can leave except for Colonel Hogan.”

“But, sir—!” Schultz tried.

“Just go.” The words were clipped. “I need to speak with my Senior POW alone. We are _not_ to be disturbed. Understood?”

Although the fat guard seemed dubious about the prospect, he made no further arguments. He saluted as smartly as Hogan had ever seen him do. “Jawohl.”

Once salutes had been exchanged and the door had been shut behind Langenscheidt, Schultz, and Wilson, Klink frowned at Hogan. “Sit down, Colonel,” he ordered irritably. “I don’t want to have to keep looking up at you.”

Hogan sat down and reviewed the situation as far as he knew it. Something had happened in Hammelburg which had resulted in Klink’s newest injury. From Newkirk’s and LeBeau’s reluctance to explain anything, it wasn’t so strange to think they might have been involved. Whatever had happened though, it seemed a fair assumption that Klink was blaming _him_ for it—Klink wouldn’t look so brassed off otherwise.

_First things first, though_. “That’s quite the goose egg you’ve got there. What happened?”

Klink blinked before his fingers edged up to his injured temple, and his cheeks regained some color. “I, ah, I hit my head on the bar when I—” He scowled, his hand falling away to slap the desktop. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Can’t do that until I know what the subject is,” Hogan complained mildly. Then, unable to help himself, he added: “After you tell me what this is all about, _then_ I can change the subject.”

The glower the Commandant sent his way was impressive. “Hah,” he said with flat disgust. “I suppose it’s _my_ fault,” he went on, a tight, sardonic smile curving his mouth, “for forgetting you never say or do _anything_ without an ulterior motive.” Before Hogan could ask for some elaboration of _that_ rather cryptic statement, Klink followed it up with a rather cryptic order: “Don’t do this to me again.” From the way he’d said it, he evidently believed Hogan would understand his meaning at once.

He didn’t but wished he did. The sooner he figured out what Klink’s problem was, the sooner he could do something to fix it. “What _this_ are you referring to?”

Klink’s hands clenched into fists, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate being played with,” he said, the anger in his voice unable to mask the hurt. “The next time you want to _use_ me, don’t pretend that it’s for _my_ benefit.” Not waiting for Hogan’s response, he went on, his tone laden with contempt, “And if you plan to tell me that Corporal Newkirk and Corporal LeBeau decided to sneak into my trunk, all on their own, with no orders from you, don’t bother.” His mouth twisted into an expression too scornful to be a smile. “I know I’m not as clever as you, but I’m not _nearly_ as stupid as you think I am.”

While the question of how Klink had discovered his erstwhile passengers would need to be answered eventually, it wasn’t what Hogan was most concerned with at the moment. He really _had_ been batting a thousand with this man, hadn’t he? As had been the case the last time he’d done this, the action had served no greater purpose and the problems it had caused had been entirely avoidable. He’d already told the man about London and had shown him the tunnel—it wouldn’t have done any harm to have told him about his extra passengers once Hogan had decided to include him in his plans. 

He couldn’t even say that not letting Klink know had been a good idea at the time because he hadn’t even _considered_ telling Klink. Such schemes came to him naturally, and, once he’d seen the opportunity, it hadn’t occurred to him to inform the Commandant he was taking it. This was getting ridiculous, honestly—wasn’t he supposed to be clever? Here he was, going on like business as usual, when business hadn’t been usual for over a week!

Now, thanks to his latest bout of ham-handling Klink, Hogan had another mess on his hands. 

He opened his mouth to explain what had happened last night but stopped short. Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter. When he’d left, they’d still been in his office. Even though they had no way of knowing if anything worth listening to was going to happen, it seemed likely they’d turn on the coffee pot to find out for certain. If they _were_ listening in right now, well, this wasn’t the way he’d wanted them to find out just how much Klink knew about their business!

Naturally, he could try denying everything, but, if he did that, he knew Klink would never believe anything he said again. Seeing as he was trying to gain the man’s trust, he couldn’t risk that. So, his choices appeared to be possibly breaking the news to his men in the worst way possible or ensure that Klink would always take him for a liar.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, and I’m sorry I made you think I did,” Hogan said, hoping the apology would mollify Klink enough to allow Hogan to suggest a change of venue for this conversation. When Klink’s already hard expression became stony, he decided honesty might serve him better. “I made a mistake.”

A sneer. “Yes: being caught.” Klink closed his eyes, his face pinched with frustration or pain. The hand he put up to his temple indicated the latter. “I’m … I’m not interested in listening to your excuses right now.” He slumped in his seat, suddenly looking very old and very tired. “You are dismissed.”

Hogan studied the man in front of him and decided the Commandant wouldn’t be willing to play charades today. The men wouldn’t take this well, but _they’d_ be willing to listen to him later; he couldn’t say the same of Klink. For all he knew, this situation was already passed salvaging. But he had to at least make the attempt. “Can I tell you something before I go?”

Klink opened his eyes, startled. “What?” He scowled. “I just dismissed you.”

“I know,” Hogan said agreeably, “but can I stay and explain something anyway?”

The scowl remained a moment longer before Klink’s expression became subdued once more. “You always do whatever it is you want to anyway,” he muttered peevishly. “Just, please, make it short. I’ve got a _terrible_ headache.”

While not an unequivocal ‘yes’, it was enough permission to go forward. “I didn’t come to your quarters with the idea of using you for transportation.” Seeing the scowl return, Hogan pressed on, “The mission with Newkirk and LeBeau was actually going to happen tomorrow—I’d already worked out the logistics of it _without_ you.” Technically false: he hadn’t quite worked out how they’d get _back_ from Hammelburg on that day, but he was certain he’d have come up with a solution in time. He generally did. “I didn’t _need_ you for this.”

Klink stared at him as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Then why did you tell me to go to Hammelburg?”

“Because I thought leaving camp for a while would be good for you.” Klink scoffed, but Hogan ignored it, choosing his next words carefully. Although he was used to explaining his ideas, he wasn’t used to explaining how they’d formed. “After you panicked in the kitchen, I’d thought about how you’ve been hiding yourself away this week.” He held up a hand in the face Klink’s defensive glower. “I know things have been difficult for you,” _though I have no idea why!_ , “but it’s still not good to be spending all of your time in this,” he gestured around him, encompassing the office and the quarters beyond, “place. I haven’t even see you at Roll Call for almost a week now.”

There was a definite shade of shame in the Commandant’s expression. Clearly, he wasn’t hearing anything he hadn’t already known.

Hogan gentled his tone. “So, I’d thought that, maybe, it’d do you some good to get away from all this for a while. I figured a short trip to Hammelburg wouldn’t be _too_ taxing for you.” He allowed himself a small frown of disapproval. “I’d also expected you to take Schultz along in case something happened.”

Klink bit his lip. “I couldn’t take Schultz with me,” he protested quietly. As Hogan watched, he seemed to be withdrawing into himself, his arms wrapping around his middle. “If something went wrong, he wouldn’t be a help—he’d only be another source of danger.”

It was plain to Hogan how much the admission had cost Klink. Unfortunately, it didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his tone undemanding. “Schultz wouldn’t hurt you.”

For a moment, he thought Klink wasn’t going to answer. “I don’t... When I panic, I don’t think rationally, you understand.” His eyes were fixed on the desk top, and his shoulders hunched further. “I think the most terrible things about people, about what they’re going to do to me.” He shuddered. “I _know_ they won’t do anything, but I can’t make myself _believe_ it.”

And he’d sent Klink out to a place swarming with people. Hogan felt like an ass. “I’m sorry. If I’d known that’s what the problem was, I never would have—”

“No,” Klink interrupted, his tone firm. “No, you were right: I did need some time away from Stalag 13.” He smiled slightly as his hold on himself relaxed. “I didn’t do well today, but it gave me some hope that I could do better in the future. That’s important, and I’m grateful you gave me the push to go.”

Then he frowned. “But why did you send your Corporals with me? If you hadn’t planned on, on using me for transportation, why _did_ you?”

Until he got to the part where he didn’t tell Klink about his plans, the answer was easy to justify. “In my position here, I have a lot of plates I need to keep spinning. Whenever I see an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, I take it.”

Klink had a what-does-that-have-to-do-with- _me_ expression on his face.

“You needed to get out of camp; Newkirk and LeBeau needed to go to Hammelburg: it was a natural choice to combine those two objectives.” He shrugged, injecting some nonchalance into the gesture for the next part. It wouldn’t do to seem _too_ defensive about this as he’d made a foolish mistake and Klink had every right to rake him over the coals for it. “I fell into old habits. It didn’t even occur to me to let you know what was going to happen today.” He smiled apologetically. “I should have realized what it would look like to you.”

“You didn’t expect me to notice,” Klink countered. While there was no mistaking the resentment in his voice, his tone lacked the undercurrent of hurt Hogan had heard before. 

“You’re right,” Hogan admitted easily, “but that’s only because Newkirk and LeBeau are competent agents.” He frowned, allowing his puzzlement to show. “I don’t understand how they managed to get themselves caught.”

As he’d hoped, Klink took the bait. “I only caught them because...” he trailed off, his expression abruptly guilty. “I went to Grafweg instead of Hammelburg.”

“Why would you ever want to go back there?” Hogan asked, surprised Klink would have willingly chosen to revisit that abandon path of dirt. 

Klink’s mouth flattened into a contemplative line. Just as Hogan was beginning to think he was going to remain silent, his shoulders slumped with defeat. “I’d thought,” one hand sought out to grasp the other on the desk top, “if I went back, saw the place in the light, maybe...” His eyes flicked up to meet Hogan’s, pleading for understanding. “That night—I almost _died_ that night, I-I had a pistol pressed up against my head, Hogan.” A shudder went through him, and he lowered his gaze, sightlessly staring down at his tightly entwined hands. “Richter would have executed _me_ , too, if I hadn’t... If I hadn’t said the right things quickly enough.”

Hogan recalled Newkirk mentioning this, that the Gestapo Captain had turned his gun on the Commandant after dealing with Adler, that he hadn’t backed off until Klink had explained the back-up plan, until he’d admitted what Adler had done to him. At the time, it hadn’t seemed important. Now, Hogan wished he’d given the matter more thought.

Nearly being executed would be rough for anyone. Hogan himself certainly had had his own share of sleepless nights over the years! From where he sat, he could see the deep circles under Klink’s eyes very well. The same circles that had been there last night. When he’d found the German in his kitchen, wearing his nightclothes, and finishing with a cup of tea.

It was obvious in retrospect. 

“That would be enough to give anyone nightmares.”

Klink’s head jerked up, and he immediately brought a hand up to his temple. When he opened his eyes, he smiled wanly. “Yes. Well, I’d thought something there might help _that_ nightmare go away.” His smile became suddenly rueful. “Although, I suppose I ought to be grateful to being having nightmares about things that _didn’t_ actually happen.”

With a distinctly queasy feeling in his gut, Hogan guessed what these other nightmares Klink was alluding to were about.

“It was quiet there,” Klink continued, evidently not noticing his audience’s discomfort, “so when your Corporals opened my trunk, I could hear them.” He grinned, his eyes alight with wicked humor. “Your Corporal Newkirk doesn’t make a particularly comely woman, does he?”

Hogan had to chuckle at that. “No, he doesn’t, but don’t tell him I said so.”

The levity of the moment faded quickly, and it was plain to Hogan that Klink wasn’t going to be able to continue this discussion for much longer. “It didn’t take long for me to realize what they were doing there. I didn’t tell them I knew,” he hastened to assure him. “I-I made an empty threat, then drove them into Hammelburg.”

Depending on how Klink had reacted to the pair’s presence, he might not have _had_ to tell them. Of course, that was nothing Hogan could necessarily blame _Klink_ for. The strange part of this was the fact that Klink had chosen to go Hammelburg after all—from the sound of things, he hadn’t planned on going there at all! “It didn’t sound like you’d wanted to go to town.”

The German’s expression flashed annoyance. “I _didn’t_ , but,” he looked away, “I didn’t think I had much of a choice. I didn’t want to, to frustrate your plan—even if your plan frustrated me.”

It seemed that even letting Klink out of the deal hadn’t been enough to keep Hogan from forcing the man to do things. If he hadn’t realized the magnitude of his mistake before, he hoped he would have now. “I’m sorry.”

Klink’s eyes darted towards his for a moment before his gaze skittered away. “I wasn’t very happy with you,” he admitted. “I’m still not. If you had only been _honest_ with me, I could have avoided a lot of unpleasantness.” He made an expression which was clearly meant to be a smile but wasn’t. “At the very least, I could have gone to a different bar.”

In an instant, Hogan understood. He knew Newkirk and LeBeau could be reckless in their own unique ways, but, surely, they had at least a _modicum_ of sense between them! “You saw them meet with Max.”

The Commandant’s flinch told Hogan his words had come out too tersely. Before he could apologize, Klink spoke, sounding oddly defensive. “I only saw them after I fell.” He frowned as though trying to sort something out. “The bartender, Max, left me with this pushy Fraulein.” As he continued speaking, his face grew scarlet. “She was... she was very distracting.”

Pushy Fraulein, huh? That certainly sounded like Erna! Hogan’s brow furrowed. Klink had said he’d hit his head on ‘the bar’, hadn’t he? When had _that_ happened? “How’d you hit your head?”

Embarrassment, shame, and something like sadness joined to create an uncomfortable expression. “She startled me, and I fell.” There was a stiff finality to the words which warned Hogan that trying to drag out more details would be fraught with frustration.

Hogan nodded to himself as the pieces he’d been given fell into place. Although Klink had felt obligated to go into Hammelburg, he clearly hadn’t wanted to go too far into (or spend much time in) town, so he’d stopped on the outskirts. Newkirk and LeBeau had evidently chosen to continue with their mission despite the risk of being recognized—recklessly (but rightly) assuming Max would have someone on hand to run interference. 

Sometime while being ‘distracted’ by the Fraulein, Klink had become ‘startled’, falling and hitting his head on the way down. A patron hurting himself in his bar would have been enough to draw Max away from his business with Newkirk and LeBeau, and, perhaps, the pair had decided to investigate what had happened, too. 

What that didn’t explain was why they’d gone ahead with the mission in the first place. It wasn’t as though it had been a matter of life and death—it could have waited for another time, and they’d known it. They at _least_ could have waited until _after_ Klink had left the premises before conducting their business. All Hogan knew was that the Corporals had better have a damn good explanation for their conduct this afternoon!

They were just lucky they hadn’t been caught by the Klink from a week ago. Then again, the Klink from a week probably wouldn’t have driven them into Hammelburg after catching them in his trunk. Of course, the Klink from a week ago would have had no reason to park out in the wilderness. And the Klink from a week ago probably wouldn’t have stopped at Max’s bar. He also wouldn’t have been ‘startled’ by a Fraulein no matter _how_ pushy she’d been.

“The dress Corporal Newkirk was wearing... It was very distinctive,” Klink offered, almost timidly. “I wouldn’t have recognized him if I hadn’t seen the dress in my trunk earlier.” 

Was Klink actually trying to make excuses for them? If he was, Hogan was having a difficult time imagining why. “Probably not,” Hogan said, making an effort to keep his tone calm for the sake of Klink’s nerves. “It was still damn foolish of them to take that risk.”

Klink hesitated then drew himself up a little, lowering his hand. “Don’t punish them too harshly for that.”

Hogan blinked. The order raised a few interesting questions, not the least of which being: “Why does the punishment I give my men matter to you?”

Another hesitation. “I... I needed their help to get back to Stalag 13.”

If by some stroke of luck, Newkirk and LeBeau _weren’t_ listening to this conversation, Hogan was going to have to tell them about Klink’s knowledge of the operation as soon as he got back to the barracks. Newkirk and LeBeau weren’t deep thinkers like Kinch, but they were sharp: sharp enough to put the clues they’d been given together. He needed to tell them before they figured it out for themselves! But, before he could put out _that_ brush fire: “What happened?”

“I was barely able to drive myself out of Hammelburg,” Klink explained tiredly, as though the act of talking had become wearying. And maybe it had: the man still looked terrible. “They agreed to help me when I asked them to drive for a while.” He closed his eyes, his hold on his hands tightening. “They were also very kind to me when I... when I panicked in the back of the car.” He hunched forward a bit, his posture oddly stiff. “So, please, don’t be too angry with them.”

Hogan realized with a sour taste in his mouth that Klink was bracing himself for a violent reaction to the request. “Okay, Klink,” he assured him once he was certain he could do so without sounding as disturbed by the revelation as he was, “I won’t be too hard on them.” He smiled gently when Klink looked up. “I was only planning to yell at them a bit anyway.” And he still might if they didn’t have a good explanation for their risk taking, but Klink didn’t need to know that.

“Thank you,” Klink said, relieved, his stiff posture relaxing. Then he winced again, bringing his hand to his temple once more. “If-if we’re finished here, I think I’m going to go lie down.”

Klink really did look terrible, and it was obvious this conversation had done nothing good for him. “Before you do that, I think you should let Wilson examine that goose egg of yours.” At Klink’s sour look, Hogan smiled his persuasive smile. “No arguments. Head injuries are nothing to fool around with.”

Klink stared at him a moment longer before he sighed. “Fine. If he’s already left, I’ll have Schultz send for him after you leave, though I don’t know what good it’ll do.”

Hogan grinned. “That’s the spirit, sir.”

* * *

As it had turned out, Wilson hadn’t left and so had been able to see to Klink directly. While Hogan had been tempted to stay and see how the examination turned out, he knew the Commandant was in good hands and that he had something else which needed to be tended to as soon as possible. 

It wasn’t often that Hogan felt truly nervous. Nervousness generally sprang from a lack of confidence—something else Hogan seldom truly felt. However, now that he was down in the radio room, standing in front of his inner circle to explain to them the gamble he’d taken with their lives, he felt both of these things. At least he already knew he had Kinch’s support... as grudging as _that_ had been to start with.

“You’re probably wondering what I called you all down here for. Well, I won’t leave you in suspense any longer.” Even though he’d had some time to prepare for this moment, he still felt as though he could use the few extra seconds this introduction afforded him. “You remember what I told you Klink thought the plan was for getting rid of General Adler?”

Nods all around.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d go for it,” Carter remarked, clearly full of admiration for Hogan for performing the feat, “with how much he’s scared stiff of the Gestapo.”

If even Carter could see the holes in plan, Hogan was amazed Kinch had been the only one to speak up about it before now. “He _didn’t_ go for it,” he corrected. “He didn’t buy it for a minute: that he’d be able to get away with murder _or_ that _I’d_ be willing to risk one of you to his aim.”

LeBeau frowned in consternation. “Then... then how _did_ you get him to agree to take someone out with General Adler?”

And this was it. “He told me he was through listening to me unless I told him what the Real Plan was. I was running low on options—I _don’t_ trust Klink’s aim, as it turns out, so I definitely didn’t want him to implement _his_ plan and take the risk he’d fail.” Lies, of course, but necessary ones—the reason he’d chosen to take the Commandant into their confidence wasn’t the important part, after all. This would be difficult enough for them to accept _without_ admitting his growing appreciation for Klink as a person. 

“So, I told him the truth,” Hogan continued, trying to get some sense of how the men were taking the news. Their poker faces were unusually strong. “Well, the important part, anyway. The part where Adler was going to be abducted and sent to London courtesy of us. I showed him the tunnel under his stove to prove we could do what I said.”

He’d expected anger, perhaps shouting (which was why he’d chosen to move this briefing down into the tunnels rather than remain in his office). He was shocked when Newkirk, the hottest hothead out of the bunch, only nodded calmly. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve trusted him to keep his gob shut.”

“ _Oui_ ,” LeBeau chimed in, his tone as disconcertingly calm as Newkirk’s. “I think we can trust him to do that much.” He shrugged in the face of Hogan’s incredulousness. “He allowed himself to be beaten for our sake, _n’est-ce pas_? 

Carter was frowning thoughtfully. “It’d sure be easier to get our hands on materials with Klink’s cooperation.”

Hogan had to laugh, relief flooding his veins. While he hadn’t been lying to Klink about being confident in his ability to win his men back to his point of view, he’d expected an up hill slog, and he was extremely pleased he’d be able to avoid that unpleasantness. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautioned lightly. “Depending on how things play out, Klink will probably try to act as though he doesn’t know anything about what we do here.”

“Another Schultz wouldn’t be so bad either,” Carter countered, sounding utterly unconcerned. 

“‘I know nothing! Nothing!’” Newkirk exclaimed, attempting to mimic Klink’s softer accent. He pursed his lips for a moment. “Practically what he does already.”

“As long as I don’t have _him_ coming around looking for free samples, too,” LeBeau groused with good humor.

“I don’t think _that_ will be a problem.” Hogan grinned, feeling some nervous tension in his shoulders he hadn’t noticed loosening. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expected you all to take this so well.”

LeBeau half-shrugged. “You usually know what you are doing.” He shook his head. “If this turns out to have been a mistake, I know you’ll think of something to get us out of it again.”

“I knew you were crazy when I agreed to take this job, governor,” Newkirk said, sinking his hands into his pockets. “Somehow, it all works out anyway.”

“Exactly,” Carter agreed. “You haven’t steered up wrong yet, boy, I mean, Colonel.”

Kinch walked passed Hogan to stand with the other men. “I trust you to do what’s right, sir.”

Hogan knew he was smiling like a fool but didn’t care. “Thank you,” he said, feeling more misty-eyed than he’d ever admit, “that means a lot.” Shaking his head, he tried to assume a more professional visage. “Outside of a drop tonight, we’re going to lay low for a little while while I get everything here sorted out. But I promise you, we’ll be back to business as usual in no time.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little break, me,” Newkirk said with feeling. “It’s been one hell of a week!”

Which reminded Hogan of the other matter he had left to attend to. “From what Klink told me,” he returned, “you and LeBeau had a hell of a day, too.” He crossed his arms. “Care to explain what happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be adding bits to prior chapters and, maybe, adding one more chapter before moving forward again. I'll mark the chapters I've added new things to (beyond a general edit, which I'm almost in the middle of) with a * for a month or so, and any new chapters I've thrown in the middle will be marked with NEW until the next update. My apologies if this gets confusing.


	93. The French Connection

Louis was not generally one for deep introspection. Most things were actually quite simple; when you got down to it, the world was largely black and white—even the shades of gray were mostly one or the other. Generally speaking, once he’d made up his mind about something, he rarely found cause to reconsider his position. This week had been full of surprises on that front. While it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion, he could (and had) admitted he’d been wrong about what Adler’s blackmail had meant.

Now, curled up in the trunk of a staff car with Pierre pressed against him, he found himself reconsidering another long-held opinion. The Commandant was an enemy—perhaps not as bad as Burkhalter or Hochstetter, but still on the black side of gray. He’d taken delight in the man’s many, many failures to catch on to Hogan’s schemes. He’d fed the man _rats_ before without even the slightest twinge of guilt. 

He didn’t feel guilty about those things now, either. 

But he did feel other things in regards to the Commandant. New things. Hearing Adler abuse Klink over the bug had sickened him. Learning that Klink had allowed himself to be beaten rather than hand one of them over to Adler had impressed him. Watching Klink’s head crack into the bar had worried him. And that breakdown—fit?—whatever it had been—had frightened him for _Klink’s_ sake.

The Commandant was still their enemy, but... but it was difficult to reconcile that fact with Louis’s new-found concern for him. 

Of course, Klink wasn’t the only person he’d had cause to be concerned about today. 

Pierre’s behavior had almost been as odd as Klink’s, honestly. While the reasons Pierre had given him for coming back to the car after meeting with Max and then helping Klink drive back to Stalag 13 afterwards had been reasonable—Louis wouldn’t have agreed as readily otherwise—it was clear now what the true reason had been. Like him, Pierre was worried about Klink. 

And that was what had Louis worried about Pierre. 

Louis didn’t fault him for worrying, of course; he just didn’t understand how it had happened so quickly. Before going on the mission to Grafweg, Pierre had been complaining that they’d all gone soft for the Jerry—now, _he_ was doing it, too? What had changed? What had happened between then and now to make him suddenly so sympathetic to Klink?

Terrible ideas percolated in his mind, things he’d worried about before his friend had even left camp.

But, surely, nothing like _that_ had happened in the _car_. Simon had said the car had been stopped before reaching any kind of destination. While not logistically impossible (if you were flexible, many creative options were open to you), he couldn’t see something like _that_ happening while the car was in _motion_. 

Then again, there were a lot of uncomfortable things which could be done without needing to be too flexible _or_ creative.

Pierre sighed. Again. “At this rate, it’s going to take us an hour to get back to camp.” He shifted slightly against Louis. “I think we need to make this trunk a little bigger. I’m getting a cramp.”

The complaint drew a half-smile before Louis’s worries returned to the fore. He could _ask_ Pierre what, if anything, had happened, but, well, if anything as terrible as Louis feared had happened, Pierre would lie. And to finish, Pierre was an excellent actor and liar, so Louis would never know for certain whether anything had happened or not.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Pierre observed, suspicious. “Something the matter?”

In light of the fact Louis was certain Pierre would lie if the answer was bad, it seemed pointless to even ask. Still, it appeared this trip was going to be much longer than expected, and Pierre would know Louis was lying if he tried denying anything was wrong.

“You have been... I’ve noticed you’ve been very kind to the boche this afternoon.” He let the observation hang in the air for a moment as he struggled to find a way of asking his question that Pierre wouldn’t deny outright. “I never thought _you’d_ go all ‘soft’ for him.” Still not a question. “What happened to change your mind?”

Pierre tensed. “It’s not what you think, Louis.”

“And what do I think?” Louis tried to hide his concern, his fear, and failed.

Soft, bitter laughter. “You think the same thing Kinch did.” A long sigh. “The poof didn’t do anything more than get a little fresh with me before Klink told him to knock it off so he could drive.”

Assuming this _wasn’t_ a lie, it was a relief. But it wasn’t an answer to his question. “Then what made you change your mind?”

A hesitation. “When we were left on our own in the car, waiting for Hochstetter to come fetch us, we... we talked.” Louis felt a motion he imagined to be a shrug. “Made me realize I’d been looking at the whole thing the wrong way. That’s all.” The next time he spoke, he sounded like he was smiling. “You’ve been pretty nice to him today yourself, Louis. What made you change _your_ mind?”

That was easy. “You.”

Silence. Then: “Me? How?”

Louis was grateful for the darkness of the trunk as he fiddled with the end of his scarf. “I thought about you out there with Adler. I thought about what would happen if le Colonel’s plan failed.” He felt a rush of sadness and fear just thinking of it. “I couldn’t... I couldn’t believe it would be just sex for you.”

A longer silence. Then Pierre shifted a bit to rest his hand on Louis’s forearm, enveloping him in a half-hug. “I was worried about that, too,” he admitted quietly. “Being back there with him—it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but...” Louis felt fingers dig into his arm. “It was still bad enough to make me glad I volunteered.”

Louis wondered if Pierre would tell him if he asked. Instead, he put a hand over Pierre’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

When Pierre spoke again, he sounded surprised. “You’re not going to ask why I volunteered, too?”

Louis shrugged as best as the tight quarters allowed. “If you want to tell me, you will, non?”

The silence was long enough to make Louis think the conversation was over before Pierre abruptly broke it. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Louis promised.

He felt Pierre take a deep breath. “I saw Andrew raising his hand, and I couldn’t let him do it.” A smattering of self-depreciating chuckles. “Guess even then I really _did_ know Kinch had the right of it.”

If he’d noticed instead, Louis wondered if he would have done the same. At least he could understand why Pierre wanted it kept secret. “I won’t tell him.”

“Don’t tell the Colonel or Kinch either,” Pierre ordered. “Do them a bit of good not to have _all_ the ruddy answers _all_ the time.”

Louis had to laugh at that. “D’accord! I will keep it all to myself.”

“Good,” Pierre declared, sounding in much better spirits than he had before. “We Europeans have to stick together, you know.”

“And the ‘Jerry’, too?” Louis couldn’t resist adding.

“All right, the ruddy Jerry, too.”

* * *

In the end, the fifteen minute trip back to Stalag 13 took almost an hour. Then they’d been obliged to wait for the car to be driven back to the motor pool, and then wait for the motor pool to be left unguarded. Louis had never been happier to hear the special knocking pattern which indicated they were free to leave the trunk. 

While the sun was already low in the sky, the comparatively brighter light left them blinking as they sat up to see Kinch smiling down at them. “Welcome back.” He held out his hands for Pierre and Louis to take, then helped them out of the trunk onto unsteady legs. “You two are late,” he remarked in a light tone as he closed the trunk. “We expected you to come back with Herr Schnitzer an hour ago.”

Pierre bent down to rub his legs. “Believe me, mate, I would have preferred that.”

Immediately, Kinch looked concerned. “Did something happen?”

Louis looked to Pierre, who shrugged. Louis glared at him then turned his attention back to the waiting Kinch. “We shouldn’t discuss it here.”

“Understood.” Kinch started walking to the entrance of the motor pool. “I’m glad you’re back: the Colonel’s been unbearable since Schnitzer’s truck showed up, and you weren’t on it.”

After checking with André at the gate and getting an all clear, they quickly made their way to Barracks 2. Louis didn’t know how long the Commandant would wait to conduct that Roll Call he’d promised, but he knew he’d rather be ‘where they belonged’ before Klink went through with it. Besides, the story they had for the Colonel was a rather long one, and it would probably be better to start sooner rather than later. 

However, only moments after they’d arrived at Barracks 2 and entered the Colonel’s office, Langenscheidt came by to tell them that Schultz had asked him to fetch Sergeant Wilson.

Kinch watched the Colonel leave, concerned. “What’s going on now?” he asked no one in particular after Hogan had shut the door behind him.

“Oh,” Pierre said airily, “I might have an idea about that.”

Both Americans turned to Pierre. “You do?” André asked. 

Kinch’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did something happen in Hammelburg?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Pierre explained how they’d been caught by Klink when the man had stopped the car to wander around in the middle of nowhere. It was clear to Louis that the Englishman was practicing telling the story for when he’d have to explain the mess to the Colonel later. 

“What did he do when he caught you?” Kinch had taken a seat at Hogan’s desk and was leaning forward a bit, keenly interested.

“First, he laughed himself sick, ‘cause I was in my disguise already. Then he asked if he wanted to know what we were up to. When I told him ‘no’, he said he was just going to drive around with us in the trunk for a few hours, so we’d learn a lesson.”

“That’s a pretty rotten thing to do,” André commented from Hogan’s bunk.

“Would have been,” Pierre agreed, “if he’d actually done it.” He crossed his arms, frowning in thought. “Far as I can tell, he drove to right to his destination without any detours.”

Kinch tilted his head. “And _where_ was his destination?”

Pierre grinned. “Max’s bar.”

“ _I_ said we shouldn’t go in,” Louis said, wanting it known that _he_ had been the sensible part of their pair this time, “but _Pierre_ insisted.”

The Englishman shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “And _I_ didn’t want to have to do it all again next week. ‘Sides, Max knows how to distract people.” He paused for a moment, some of the levity leaving him. “Too well, as it turns out.”

Kinch was nearly scowling now. “I take it something happened.”

At least Pierre had the grace to look chagrined. “Max sicced one of his birds on Klink, and... I didn’t see _what_ happened, but the bird apologized for startling him after he fell.”

Louis had seen something more and shared, “He hit his head on the bar. The way he acted after, I think he might have a concussion.”

“A concussion!” André exclaimed. “Those can be dangerous.”

Kinch seemed completely baffled. “He drove back to Stalag 13 with a concussion?”

Pierre waved the question away. “I’m getting to that.” He gave André and Kinch the same rationale he’d given Louis to justify staying close to the Commandant rather than taking their scheduled ride back with Schnitzer and his dogs: Klink had already caught them, and, if he discovered they were gone, he’d think they’d successfully escaped and kick up a fuss.

He didn’t tell them about returning Klink’s knock on the trunk, Louis noticed. Still, he supposed that wasn’t truly important, and it had probably been safer to acknowledge the knock rather than force Klink to open the trunk in broad daylight on the side of a busy street in front of who knew how many witnesses.

Instead, Pierre moved on to the part of the story where, after driving for a while, Klink had pulled over to the side of the road to vomit before banging on the trunk to beg for their help. Again, Pierre gave the Americans the same arguments for agreeing to aid the enemy that he’d given Louis: they were already in trouble, so why not gain some clemency?; a concussed driver meant possibly getting into an accident; and, if their driver had to get out of the car every five minutes to vomit, it was going to be a _much_ longer ride crammed together in a cramped trunk for the both of them.

Kinch was giving Pierre a suspicious, sidelong look. “You didn’t stick Klink in the trunk, did you?”

“Didn’t think he’d go for that,” Pierre said with a grin. He briefly described the logistics of what they’d done to hide Klink from possible passersby. “It all went well enough, until I asked what he was going to give us for escaping when we got back.” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “He just... he stopped answering me. Thought he’d passed out on us.”

“I tried to wake him,” Louis said, feeling almost embarrassed, as though he was confessing to a mistake. In a way, he supposed he was—it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been warned. “It was like you said, André. The moment I touched him, he started shaking and crying. He begged me not to...” Louis trailed off. At the time, he’d been feeling too frightened and guilty to really question what Klink had been babbling about. “I don’t know what he didn’t want me to do.”

“We had to stop the car and wait on the side of the road until he got a hold of himself.” Pierre’s tone was flat, and his expression was closed. “It took a while.”

André made a low whistling sound. “When the Colonel touched him, he didn’t do all _that_. Just went real still and asked the Colonel to let him go.” His brow furrowed. “He was fine after a minute or so.”

“It’s been a long week, Carter.” Kinch’s kindly tone made his already tired expression seem sad. Then he turned his attention back to Pierre. “What happened after he calmed down?”

Pierre shrugged. “Offered to let him take over driving, and he took it.” His shoulders slumped. “Drove slower than my white-haired granny the whole way.”

“Still, not bad for a guy with a concussion,” André offered, smiling. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to sleep for a week now that he’s back.”

“That’ll be up to Wilson, I guess.” Kinch leaned back in the chair. “I wonder what’s keeping them. It can’t be taking _that_ long to check Klink out.”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand.” André was frowning deeply now, brow furrowed in thought. “It seems to me,” he continued once they’d all turned to look at him, “that, if Klink cared about you two escaping, he wouldn’t have kept going on to Hammelburg.” He nodded as though he’d tried his thought on for size and found it fitting. “If I was him, I’d’ve come right back here so you fellas couldn’t get away”

Louis traded looks with Pierre to see the same sense of realization he was coming to showing on his friend’s face as well. The only excuse Louis had for not noticing the discrepancy André had just pointed out himself was that the whole situation had been so bizarre and unexpected.

Why _had_ Klink gone to Hammelburg? Now that the strangeness of it had been pointed out, it simply made no sense. Yes, Klink had _said_ he wasn’t going to change his plans for them, but that didn’t explain why he’d take them into town, abandon the car, and leave them alone, unguarded, to... _to do as they pleased_.

Pierre’s dark scowl abruptly slackened into something shocked. “He knew we were up to something, and he drove us into town anyway.” He turned his stunned expression onto Louis. “He helped us on _purpose_! Why would he do that?”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t know, mon ami.” He turned his attention to the Americans. André was looking thoughtful again, but Kinch looked... he seemed almost ill. As he had the other night—when he’d clearly thought of something he hadn’t wanted to share.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause we helped him with Adler?” André suggested. “I mean, he knew Newkirk would be lying for him, right? Maybe he just wanted to return the favor.”

“That could be it,” Kinch agreed a bit too quickly. If Louis didn’t know better, he’d have thought the radioman sounded overly relieved. Although, why he’d be relieved at all, Louis couldn’t guess. “Better than spending a week in the cooler.”

Pierre chuckled. “I don’t know. I could use some time to myself.” Then he was frowning again.

While Louis supposed André’s explanation made a certain amount of sense, he didn’t think he believed it. It seemed... too altruistic. The Commandant of Stalag 13 was willing to bend the rules for his own benefit, but he generally spun straight. As far as Louis could see, there would be no benefit to Klink to help them get to Hammelburg.

Apparently, Pierre had come to a similar conclusion. “I could see him not punishing us to pay us back for our help,” he said slowly, “but I don’t see him _helping_ us when it wouldn’t help _him_.” His brow furrowed with puzzlement. “Unless it _did_ help him somehow to help us.”

“Maybe...” André trailed off, his eyes widening. “Oh,” he breathed, looking stunned by whatever revelation he’d had. “Oh! Louis, remember Friday night, when the Colonel made Simon take him back out to Grafweg so he could check on ‘my men’, and we couldn’t decide if he’d meant Klink, too?”

Louis nodded, uncertain what the munitions man’s point was. “Why bring that up now?”

“Well, the Colonel told me yesterday when I spoke to him about,” his face flushed and he stumbled over the words, “Klink getting whupped, that he _did_ mean Klink, too, when he’d said ‘my men’.” From the way he’d spoken, André clearly believed he’d shared the missing piece to the puzzle.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Pierre asked after a moment.

André gave him a patient smile. “The Colonel wouldn’t call someone one of us, unless they _were_ one of us. So, Klink must be one of us now.” Considering the theory he was proposing, he sounded remarkably unconcerned. “He also told me there was one more thing he wasn’t telling me because he wanted to tell all of us at the same time. Maybe this is what he meant.” He shrugged. “He was also worried that we were giving aid to the enemy, remember Kinch? If he got Klink to be on our side, he wouldn’t be the enemy anymore.” A proud smile. “ _And_ if Klink _is_ on our side now, of _course_ he’d help you get to town.”

Louis wanted to tell the younger man that what he was suggesting was impossible, but, as incredible an idea as it was, he couldn’t deny how well the pieces fit together. 

“And Klink didn’t let on because we aren’t supposed to know yet.” Pierre’s expression was difficult to read—he didn’t seem angry, but it couldn’t be said he looked very happy either.

As for Kinch... Kinch looked resigned. 

And Louis understood. “You already knew this.”

To his credit, the radioman didn’t try to deny it. “I figured it out after the Colonel left with Simon,” Kinch explained, his tone quiet and tired. “I didn’t tell you what I’d guessed then because I wanted to give him a chance to explain himself.”

“Must have been a pretty good explanation then,” Pierre quipped stiffly, “since you kept it to yourself, too.” 

This earned a wry smile. “I’d thought so.” He sat up straighter in the chair, a solemn expression on his face. “He _did_ plan on telling you once the dust settled a bit.” Apparently deciding not to wait for questions, he went on, “Klink was only told the bare bones of the real plan for Adler, and the Colonel showed him the stove tunnel to prove he could do what he said he could do.” 

It simultaneously wasn’t a lot and too much. “But why would he tell the bosche anything?”

Kinch didn’t answer right away, but Louis didn’t get the sense he was preparing to lie—just that he was choosing his words with care. “Klink didn’t buy the cover plan and was going to use his _own_ plan to deal with Adler unless Hogan played straight.” His eyes had a far away look, remembering. “Hogan told him he’d have to kill him if he was still loyal to the Reich, and Klink told _him_ that he wasn’t going to have him shot for trying to save his life. Hogan believed him.”

André whistled but made no comment. 

Pierre looked like he was thinking of saying something, but, as silent seconds passed, he seemed to change his mind. 

The question that should come next was obvious, but Louis found himself reluctant to ask it. Granted, the answer _could be_ that Hogan hadn’t wanted to take the risk that Klink wouldn’t successfully murder Adler, but that explanation seemed as false as Pierre’s reasons for helping Klink this afternoon had been. So why even ask the question? What exactly would he do with confirmation that the Colonel just hadn’t wanted the Commandant to kill himself? 

When it came right down to it, Louis didn’t want the man to kill himself either, and he doubted André or Pierre felt any differently. What he hadn’t decided was just how he felt about Hogan willingly bringing Klink into their confidence. On one hand, having the Commandant on their side now made worrying about him a little less confusing. On the other hand, that the Colonel would wait this long to tell them that he’d done it...

“The ball’s in your court now,” Kinch said, standing up. “You don’t have to tell me what you decide.”

Pierre rolled his eyes and reached out to take Kinch’s arm. “C’mon, Kinch. You know we’re not going to abandon the governor.”

“Of course not,” André agreed. “We’ve stuck with him through thick and thin—we’re not going to stop now. Right, Louis?”

Despite himself, Louis smiled. How could he argue with _that_?


End file.
